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POEMS 



CHARLES SWAIN 



BOSTON: 

WHITTEMORE, NILES, AND HALL. 
18 5 7. 



l%51 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1857, by 

Whittemore, Niles, and Hall, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District 
Massachusetts. 






CAMBRIDGE: 

ALLEN AND FARNHAM, 8TERE0TYPERS AND PRINTERS. 



TO 



HENRY T. TIJCKERMAN, 



IN TOKEN OF 



SINCEBE ESTEEM, 



AFFECTIONATE REMEMBRANCE. 



PREFACE 

TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 



This edition of Charles Swain's Poems is pub- 
lished under an arrangement by which he is to 
receive a portion of the profits from it; and the 
selection has been partly made by him. It em- 
braces in addition to the best poems in the differ- 
ent volumes published in England, several pieces 
which are now printed for the first time, or which 
have never before been collected. 

Charles Swain was born in Manchester in 1803 ; 
and there he has always lived. His father, who 
died before he was six years old, was an Eng- 
Ushman of considerable fortune, but, as we gather, 
of careless and extravagant habits, and at his death 
the family resources were much reduced. His 
mother was the daughter of a French physician 
of some note, and was born in Paris. To this 
mingling of French blood in his veins, much of the 
vivacity of his lyrical poetry must doubtless be 
ascribed; precisely as the brilliancy of Sydney 
Smith's wit and the rapidity of movement in his 
style may be traced to the same cause. 

At an early age he was sent to school in ]Man- 

(V) 



VI PREFACE. 

Chester, and made considerable progress in his 
studies. But as his mother's means were limited, 
he was placed in the dye-works of her brother, as 
soon as he had attained the age of fifteen. From 
this time his education was almost entirely that of 
self-culture. He remained in the service of his 
uncle for fourteen years, when he quitted it to join 
the firm of Lockett & Co., engravers, in Manches- 
ter. Subsequently he purchased a part of their 
business, in which he is still engaged. Whilst he 
resided with his uncle, who appears to have been 
a person of cultivated taste, he had access to 
a well-selected library, and added largely to his 
stock of general information. 

Public attention was first attracted to his poetical 
talents by a poem printed in the London Literary 
Gazette, to Avhich journal he has ever since been 
a frequent contributor. He has also written much 
for annuals and other periodicals. His first volume 
was published in 1827 under the title of Metrical 
Essays, and met with encouraging success. This 
was followed in 1831 by The Mind and Other 
Poems, of which three editions have been pub- 
lished. The next year he published Dryburgh 
Abbey, a poem upon the death of Sir Walter 
Scott, which is placed at the close of this selection. 
Fifteen years later he again appeared as an author, 
and published his Dramatic Chapters and Other 
Poems, a collection of sketches which have been 
highly praised. In 1849 he published the English 
]\Ielo(lies, the most popular of all his volumes : and 
four years later The Letters of Laura d'Auverne 



PREFACE. • Vn 

and Other Poems. These, we believe, are all the 
separate j^ubhcations that have appeared under his 
name. 

Swain's poetry has always been popular in Eng- 
land, and several of his pieces have been trans- 
lated into French and -German, while a still larger 
number have been set to music. 

In 1827 he married, and has had six children, of 
whom four still survive. Of his home Mr. Tucker- 
man has given a pleasing picture in his Month in 
England, which will be read with interest. 

" The fine shops and nutritive ' Albion ' of Man- 
chester could not long beguile me ; and, as it 
wanted two hours of the time to start, I deter- 
mined to seek the dwelling of a poet whose very 
name was a refreshment to the mind in this sooty 
hive of prosperous activity. It was with a feeling 
of infinite relief that I rode forth from those dusky 
and crowded streets, and entered the lane wherein 
stands the cottage of Charles Swain. 

" Many of his songs had been wafted by their own 
aerial sweetness across the sea; and his felicitous 
description of Scott's funeral, attended by a pro- 
cession of the romancer's immortal characters, is 
too graphic a tribute to genius not to be recalled 
with delight. 

" I entered the family circle — thoroughly Eng- 
lish in its geniality — just as they had assembled 
for lunch. The house is bounded by a snug garden 
of trees and flowers ; the rooms are hung with 
choice engravings ; all around and within indicated 
comfort and taste, and when I met the dark eye of 



VUl PREFACE. 

my friend, I Imagined myself in tlie villa of a cor- 
dial Tuscan. 

" The books, the pictures, the hospitable gude wife, 
the unaffected and blooming girls, the cheerful old 
lady by the fireside, and the retirement and quiet 
suddenly encountered, were all the more charming 
from the idea of noisy, toilsome, smoke-enveloped 
Manchester so near in fact, so distant in fancy. 

" I was conscious of a peculiar satisfaction at the 
thought that the poetic instinct could thus isolate 
a man of soul, whose lot was cast amidst the most 
utilitarian scenes. 

" It Avas a cheering reflection, that, at evening, this 
brave aspirant could leave behind him the turbid 
city, and here yield himself to letters, love, and 
song. How potent are fancy and affection to 
redeem material life ; and how independent are 
intellectual resources and earnest sentiment of 
the work-day world. I honored the enlightened 
will which led him thus to dedicate his' leisure to 
Lis family, nature, and the Muses." 



CONTENTS. 



Home and Friends 1 

Be Kind to each other 2 

To the Lark 3 

Village Courtship 4 

]\Iary 5 

The Heart's Music '. 7 

Tripping down the Field-Path 7 

The Three Callers 9 

I waited till the Twilight . . . . . .10 

The Cottage Door 11 

'T was coming from the Village Church ... 12 

I wish my Love were some Fair Stream . . 13 

When the Purse is full 13 

Let us love one another 14 

The Old Cottage Clock 16 

Aladdin's Lamp 17 

Maiden Beauty 18 

Imaginary Evils 19 

The Corner 20. 

Down the Frozen Valley 21 

Sketch from Life 22 

Give me the People 23 

Old Friends together 24 

Give me a Freshening Breeze .... 25 

A Violet 26 

The Chamois Hunters 27 

Keep the Heart light as you can .... 28 

Yesterday and To-morrow 29 

A swing of the Gate 30 

Morning 31 

(ix) 



CONTENTS. 



Conceit 

The Old Thorn .... 

It was the Early Winter 

Where dwells the Fairy Queen 

Enough and to Spare 

The Cherry-Tree .... 

Passing thy Door 

The World 

Song and Summer 

Ho ! Breakers on the Weather Bow 

When the Heart is Young 

Smile and never heed me 

Procrastination .... 

True Loveliness 

Love Gifts . 

The Buccaneer's Song 

The Coquette 

Summer, Come 

The Husband's Song . 

The Orphan Boy .. 

Don't say one thing and 

At the parting of Day 

Oh ! what a world it might be . 

Do a good turn when you can 

Past the Hour .... 

r)acchus and the Pirates 

Take the World as it is . 

'T was on a Sunday Morning 

To the Sea-Mymph 

The Sea-Nymph's Reply 

The Ways of Heaven 

There 's an Hour 

Distress 

Had th}' Voice 

Forget not the Unhappy 

The Unattainable . 

lAlary .... 

Li my Fairy Garden 



mean another 



CONTENTS 



lly Poor Old Nurse . 

Love's Histor}' 

The Rebuke 

A Foot upon the Step 

Judge not in haste 

The Child and the Angels 

Let us try .... 

What 's a Fair or Noble Face 

The Hunting Morn 

Spirit of Song 

I wooed thee 

The Angel's Call . 

The Meadow Gate 

Old Friends and Old Times 

A Word of thine 

The Old Evenings . 

I knew my Lot was Labor 

Watching and Weeping . 

What 's your Opinion 

Be sure you call 

A Heart for every one 

The ]\L^gic Glass 

Better than Beauty . 

The Cottage Window 

Speak no 111 ... 

Near thee 

A Sketch .... 

Oh ! ask not if I love thee well 

Forgive and Forget . 

A Tale, Pale Cheek 

Hath the World . 

Love's Trials . 

A Contrast 

Life .... 

The Lilies of the Field 

Open Hearted 

The Rose thou gavest 

Cares .... 



XU CONTENTS. 

To the Worldling 104 

Two Lovers 105 

A Portrait 105 

The Sailor 106 

From the Oriel Window 107 

There 's a Charm 108 

What 's the Use of Existence 109 

To Him who for Six Days 110 

The Sexton Ill 

The Angel of the Storm . . . . . Ill 

Brave Hearts 112 

Absent Friends 113 

Love thee ? 113 

Woman's Will 114 

" Where Farting is no More " 115 

If thou couldst Teach 116 

^lany hope that the Heart 116 

The Wife^s Riches 117 

Darkness upon the Sea 118 

Oh! First Time came 119 

What need of Words 120 

Ever Complaining 120 

As just before the Hay was mown .... 121 

The Hail is beating 122 

He 's crossing o'er the Bridge, Jane .... 123 

The First Couple 124 

A Wish 125 

A Lament ........ 126 

The Night hath gone 127 

A Moment 128 

The Repentant 129 

You 've Forgot 130 

Round the Corner 131 

Parting Words 132 

Maiden Worth 133 

Unkindness 134 

Nay, Stay, we '11 have many Songs more . . 135 

Joy 136 



CONTENTS. Xm 

Gila your Feathers 137 

Despair 137 

Mirth 139 

Melancholy 140 

Hope 140 

I will not give my Heart away .... 141 

Independence 143 

Time to me 144 

Lo! from the Eastern Sky 145 

When Life hath Sorrow found .... 146 

An Emblem — a Lonely Cloud .... 147 

The Last Meeting 147 

Oh ! it was in the Moonlight 148 

Light of Heart 149 

If thou speak'st 150 

Beauty is Dead 151 

Life . . . 152 

Never rail at the World 153 

She 's not so Fair 153 

Loving and Forgiving 154 

Lonely Age ....'.... 155 

The Betrothed 156 

Mortality .157 

If thy Form 158 

Expression and Beauty 159 

Love's Confession 159 

A Sigh 160 

I told You 161 

Why art thou so unlike the rest .... 162 

Oh ! blest the Home 163 

If you knew 164 

The Snow 165 

The Flower and the Euiu 165 

The Merry Heart 166 

Thank God for all 167 

What is that we take from Earth .... 168 

To the Young 170 

The Tree of the Valley 172 



XIV 



CONTENTS 



Sweet Eio-hteen 

Give me the Night 

Song .... 

Canzonet .... 

The Bird of Hope . 

Poor Man's Song 

The Beautiful Day 

King Frost 

The Peasantry of England 

The Bride's Father 

The First Prayer . 

No More .... 

The Trumpet had Sounded 

Coronation Song 

Gipsey Ballad 

Tent of Abraham .... 

There are two ways to live on Earth 

Oh ! Maiy, though in Russet clad 

Come, name a Good Fellow 

The Rain was abating . 

A Night Journey .... 

The Roar of the Tempest 

Morn on the Meadow 

It is but a Cottage 

A Rainbow 

We ne'er can know 

Cold blows the Blast .... 

Home is where thei-e 's one to love us 

Shakespeare's Violets 

Tlie Ship " Extravagance " . 

The Gay Woi'ld .... 

What is it 

Pride 

What is Noble .... 

Work 

I cannot say that every Day . 

The Wood Rangers .... 

Why should thy Voice . 



CONTENTS. 



A Hollow anfl%i Whistling Wind 
Night and Silence .... 

The Hurricane 

The Woodbine and the Wild Rose 

Before my Lip 

The Sun of Life .... 
Things are not what they seem 

Signs 

The Night comes Cold 
Come, let me take thy Hand in Mine 
Tears of Gladness .... 
A Wife's Last Care 

Perseverance 

Kindness 

God made the Heart 

Lute and Tambourine . 

Though ye live with some for years 

Fame 

Disappointment .... 

When Beauty's Rose 

Aladdin's Wife, or Aladdin's Lamp exchanged 

Words 

False as Water 

The Wayward One 

The Vv^herewithal .... 

Faith 

The Sweetest of All .... 
I cannot pretend to say . 
Childhood's Heax-t .... 
Bird and River .... 
The Loving Heart .... 
If this World we inhabit 
The Fairy of the Moonbeam 
The Voice of the Morning 
Each may speak of the World . ' 

Trifles 

Though the Leaves of the Rose 
Come, tell me thy Sorrow 



XVI CONTENTS. 

The Sun that warms 252 

A Morn of Love 253 

Mildly, oh ! Moon of Night 254 

Alone at Eve 254 

I 've grown so Nervous lately .... 255 

Love's Hour . . . . . . . . 256 

Birds 257 

Hope on 258 

Fancies 259 

Nature and Fashion 260 

I lost my Way 261 

Morn and Eve . . . . . . . . 261 

Love's Remonstrance . . . . . . 262 

Better Days 264 

Meet me there 265 

The Kind Old Friendly Feeling . . . .266 

The Home-bound Bark 267 

The British Bow 269 

To the Night Wind 271 

The Shepherd's Daughter 272 

The Mother 273 

The Voice of Night 276 

The Ships of England 277 

My Own 280 

The Village of Scheveningen . . . . 281 

The River 283 

The Sluraberers 284 

The Better Wreath 287 

Maid of Saragossa 289 

The Suliote 292 

The Young Cottagers 294 

The Visionary 295 

The Prince of the Storm 297 

Dryburgh Abbey 299 



POEMS. 



HOME AND FRIENDS. 

Oh, there 's a power to make each hour 

As sweet as heaven designed it ; 
Nor need we roam to bring it home, 

Though few there be that find it ! 
We seek too high for things close by, 

And lose what nature found us ; 
For life hath here no charm so dear 

As Home and Friends around us ! 

We oft destroy the present joy 

For future hopes — and praise them ; 
Whilst flowers as sweet bloom at our feet, 

If we 'd but stoop to raise them ! 
For things afar still sweetest are 

When youth's bright spell hath bound us ; 
But soon we 're taught that earth had nought 

Like Home and Friends around us ! 

The friends that speed in time of need, 
When Hope's last reed is shaken, 

1 



BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. 

That show us still, that, come what will, 
We are not quite forsaken : — 

Though all were night : if but the light 
Of Friendship's altar crowned us, 

'T would prove the bliss of earth was this 
Our Home and Friends around us ! 



BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. 

Be kind to each other ! — 

The night 's coming on, 
When friend and when brother 

Perchance may be gone ! — 
Then 'midst our dejection 

How sweet to have earned 
The blest recollection 

Of kindness — returned ! — 
When day hath departed, 

And Memory keeps 
Her watch, broken hearted, 

Where all she loved sleeps ! — 

Let falsehood assail not. 

Nor envy disprove, — 
Let trifles prevail not 

Against those ye love ! — 
Nor change with to-morrow 

Should fortune take wing ; 
But the deeper the sorrow 

The closer still cling ! — 



TO THE LARK. 

Oh, be kind to each other I — 
The night's coming on, 

When friend and when brother 
Perchance may be gone ! 



TO THE LARK. 

Wherefore is thy song so gay ? 

Wherefore is thy flight so free ? 
Singing — soaring — day by day ; 

Thou 'rt a bird of low degree ! 
Tirral-la ! 
Scarcely sheltered from the mould, 

We thy humble nest can see ; 
Wherefore is thy song so bold ? 

Little bird of low degree. 
Tirral-la ! Tirral-la ! 

Humbly though my dwelling lie. 

Next door neighbor to the earth ; 
Rank, though lifted ne'er so high. 

Cannot soar like humble worth : 
Tirral-la ! 
Shall I silently repine, 

When these birds of loftier airs 
Say no parent race of mine 

Built a nest as high as theirs ? 
Tirral-la ! Tirral-la ! 

Give me but a summer morn, 

Sweet with dew and golden light, 



VILLAGE COURTSHIP. 

And the ricliest plumage born 
Well may envy me my flight ! 
Tirral-la ! 
Through the azure halls of clay, 

Where the path of freedom lies, 
Tirral-la ! is still my lay — 
Onward, upward to the skies ! 
Tirral-la ! Tirral-la ! 



VILLAGE COURTSHIP. 

Tapping at the window, 

Peeping o'er the blind ; — 
'T is really most surprising, 

He never learns to mind ! 
'T was only yester evening. 

As in the dark we sat. 
My mother asked me sharply, 

" Pray, Mary, who is that ? " 
Who 's that V indeed ! — you 're certain 

How much she made me start ; 
Men seem to loose their wisdom 

Whene'er they lose their heart ! 

Yes, — there he is, — I see him ; 

The lamp his shadow throws 
Across the curtained window : 

He 's stepping on his toes! 
He '11 never think of tapping, 

Or making any din ; 



A knock, though e'en the slightest, 
Is worse than looking in ! 

Tap ! tap ! — would any think it ? - 
He never learns to mind ; 

'T is surely most surprising, — 
He thinks my mother blind ! 

'T is plain I must go to him ; 

It 's no use now to cough ; — 
I '11 ope the door, just softly, 

If but to send him off ! 
'Tis well if from the door-step 

He be not shortly hurled, — 
Oh ! men, there ne'er was trouble 

Till ye came in the world ! 
Tapping at the window, 

And peeping o'er the blind ; 
Oh ! man, but you 're a trouble, 

And that we maidens find ! 



MARY. 

The graceful and the beautiful. 

The gentle, kind, and airy, 
Together met, to mould the form. 

And gift the mind of Mary : 
There's nature in each careless curl, 

In every grace a moral ; 
Her mouth — 'tis Cupid's mouth — sweet girl. 

And full of pearls and coral ! 



She 's like the key-stone to an arch 

That consummates all beauty ; 
She 's like the music to a march, 

Which sheds a joy on duty ! 
All happy thoughts and feelings rife 

Seem evermore to guide her ; 
The very ills and cares of life 

Forget themselves beside her ! 

Each sweet expressive glance appears 

Of nature's best selection ; 
It took the world six thousand years 

To perfect such perfection ! 
All gifts divine that could combine, 

All charms of nymph or fairy, 
Agree^ to grace one beauteous face, 

And witch the world with Mary ! 

She speeds as If with wings, so ileet 

No birds could ere surpass them, 
Yet none can ever spy her feet, 

Though 'tis believed she has them! 
She lends a spell to every scene, 

Her step makes ivinter vernal ; 
A something half divine, between 

The earthly and eternal ! 



THE HKAKTS MU8IC. 



THE HEART'S MUSIC. 

The bird that to the evening sings 

Leaves music, when her song is ended ; 
A sweetness left — which takes not wings — 

But with each pulse of eve is blended : 
Thus life involves a double light, 

Our acts and woi-ds have many brothers ; 
The heart that makes its own delight 

Makes also a delight for others. 

The owls that hoot from midnight tower 

Shed gloom and discord ere they leave it ; 
And sweetness closes, like a flower 

That shuts itself from tones that grieve it : 
Thus life involves or double joy, 

Or double gloom, for each hath brothers ; 
The heart that makes its own annoy 

Makes also an annoy for others. 



TRIPPING DOWN THE FIELD-PATH. 

Tripping down the field-path, 

Early in the morn. 
There I met my own love, 

'Midst the golden corn ; 
Autumn winds were blowings 

As in frolic chase, 



TRIPPING DOWN THE FIELD-PATH. 

All her silken ringlets 
Backward from her face, 

Little time for speaking 
Had she, for the wind, 

Bonnet, scarf, or ribbon, 
Ever swept behind. 

Still some sweet improvement 

In her beauty shone ; 
Every graceful movement 

Won me — one by one ! 
As the breath of Veims 

Seemed the breeze of morn, 
Blowing thus between us, 

'Midst the golden corn. 
Little time for wooing 

Had we, for the wind 
Still kept on undoing 

What we sought to bind ! 

Oh ! that autumn morning 

In my heart it beams, 
Love's last look adorning 

With its dream of dreams ! 
Still like Avaters flowing 

In the ocean shell — 
Sounds of breezes blowing 

In my spirit dwell ! 
Still I see the field-path ; — 

AYould that I could see 
Her whose graceful beauty 

Lost is now to me ! 



THi: THREE CALLEUS. 



THE THREE CALLERS. 

MoRiSr calleth fondly to a fair boy straying 

'Mid golden meadows, rich with clover dew ; 
She calls — but he still thinks of nouglit, save 
playing; ^ 
And so she smiles — and waves him an Adieu ! 
Whilst he, still merry with his flowery store, 
Deems not that Morn, sweet Morn ! returns no 
more. 

Noon cometh — but the boy, to manhood growing, 
Heeds not the time — he sees but one sweet 
form, 
One young fair face, from bower of jasmine glow- 
ing. 
And all his loving heart with bliss is warm : 
So Noon, unnoticed, seeks the western shore, 
And man forgets that Noon returns no more. 

Night tappeth gently at a casement gleaming 
With the thin fire light, flick'ring faint and low ; 

By which a gray-haired man is sadly dreaming 
O'er pleasures gone — as all Life's pleasures go : 

Night calls him to her — and he leaves his door, 

Silent and dark ; — and he returns no more. 



10 I WAITED TILL THE TWILIGHT. 



I WAITED TILL THE TWILIGHT. 

I WAITED till the twilight, 

And yet he did not come ; 
I strayed along the brook side, 

And slowly wandered home ; 
When who should come behind me, 

But him I would have chid ; 
He said he came to find me — 

Do you really think he did ? 

He said, since last we parted. 

He'd thought of nought as sweet, 
As of this very moment — 

The moment we should meet. 
He showed me where, half shaded, 

A cottage home lay hid ; 
He said for me he made it — 

Do you really think he did ? 

He said when first he saw me 

Life seemed at once divine ; 
Each night he dreamt of angels. 

And every face was mine : 
Sometimes a voice, in sleeping. 

Would all his hopes forbid ; 
And then he wakened, weeping — 

Do you really think he did ? 



THE COTTAGE DOOK. 11 



THE COTTAGE DOOR. 

The starry silence falls 

Along my sylvan way, 
A spirit walks tlie earth, 

We never meet by day ; 
And list'ning to the voice 

Of years that are no more ; 
My feet — Oh ! know'st thou why V 

Have wandered to thy door. 

The quiet taper burns 

And makes thy casement blight, 
And soft thy shadow falls 

Between me and the light ; 
I gaze as on a shrine 

My heart would bend before ; 
My couch had seen no rest, 

Had I not seen thy door. 

The Night, as if to breathe. 

Her starry curtain parts ; 
The very air seems faint 

With breath of lovers' hearts : 
Some spirit robes the earth 

In light that heaven wore ; 
Or is that light thine own ? — 

And is that heaven thy door ? 



12 COMING FROM THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 



'TWAS COMING FROM THE VILLAGE 
CHURCH. 

'T WAS coming from the Village Church 

I saw my false love nigh, 
I said — Oh ! shame me not, my heart, 

But let me pass him by. 
And'so the color left my cheek, 

The tear forsook mine eye ; 
And with a timid step, and weak, 

I passed my false love by. 

He looked — and thought, perchance, to see 

The blush and tear of old ; 
But I was cold as he could be — 

That is, I seemed as cold ! 
For fast and fast my heart did fill, 

Mine eyes could hold no more, — 
He might have seen I loved him still, 

Had I not gained the door. 

I hurried to my own dear room, 

I knelt me down to pray. 
But still no firmness could assume, 

My tears they would have way : 
Oh ! false, false lips, — oh ! faithless part — 

Oh ! base, unmanly aim — 
To seek for years to win a heart, 

Then make its love — its shame ! 



I WISH MY LOVE WERE SOME FAIR STREAM. 1.3 



I WISH MY LOVE WERE SOME FAIR 
STREAM. 

I WISH my love were some fair stream, 
Soft singing through her woodland way ; 

And I some star, whose loving beam 
Might in her bosom rest its ray. 

I wish my love were like the dew. 
Half hidden 'neath the rose's lip ; 

And I the young dawn, trembling through 
The fragrance, none but I might sip. 

I wish — like flowers that fondly meet. 

And cheer and charm the humblest spot — 

Our Hves might blend while life was sweet, 
And even death divide us not I 



W^HEN THE PURSE IS FULL. 

Oh ! happy are the hours when the purse is full ; 

Time passes over flowers when the purse is full ; 
Where'er our fancy wends. 
We are sure to meet with friends, 

And there 's nothing that offends — when the j^urse 
is full! 

But weary are the hours when the purse is low. 
And few and far the flowers when the purse is low; 



14 LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 

Where'er our footsteps range 
Comes the chilHng breath of change, 
And the best of friends look strange when the purse 
is low ! 

Morn Cometh with a dance when the purse is full ; 

There Is music in her glance when the purse is full ; 
Life then is something worth, — 
There is pleasure upon earth, — 

There is beauty, song, and mirth — when the purse 
is full ! 

Yet man, we 're often told, though his purse be 

low. 
Is himself the truer gold, though his purse be low; 
But the saying is not true, 
For the blindest yet may view, 
Man's friends are of the few — when his purse is 
low! 



LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 
I. 

Let us love one another, — not long -may we stay ; 
In this bleak world of mourning some di-oop while 

'tis day. 
Others fade in their noon, and few linger till eve: 
Oh ! there breaks not a heart but leaves some one 

to grieve ; 
And the fondest, the purest, the truest that met, 
Have still found the need to forgive and forget ! 



LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 15 

Then, ali ! tlioiigh the hopes that we nourished de- 
cay, 
Let us love one another as long as we stay. 

II. 

There are hearts, like the Ivy, though all be de- 
cayed, 
That it seemed to clasp fondly in sunlight and 

shade ; 
No leaves droop in sadness, still gaily they spread, 
Undimmed 'midst the blighted, the lonely, and 

dead: 
But the mistletoe clings to the oak, not in part. 
But with leaves closely round it — the root in its 

heart ; 
Exists but to twine it, — imbibe the same dew, — 
Or to fall with its loved oak, and perish there too. 

III. 

Thus, let's love one another 'midst sorrows the 

worst, 
Unaltered and fond, as we loved at the first ; 
Though the false wing of pleasure may change and 

forsake, 
And the bright urn of wealth into particles break. 
There are some sweet affections that wealth cannot 

buy, 
That cling but still closer when sorrow draws nigh, 
And remain with us yet, though all else pass away; 
Thus, let's love one another as long as we stay. 



16 THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. 



THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. 

Oh ! the old, old clock, of the household stock 

Was the brightest thing and neatest ; 
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, 

And its chime rang still the sweetest. 
'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few, 

Yet they lived, though nations altered ; 
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, 

When the voice of friendship faltered ! 
Tick, tick, it said, — quick, quick, to bed, — 

For ten I 've given warning ; 
Up, up, and go, or else, you know, 

You '11 never rise soon in the morning ! 

A friendly voice was that old, old clock, 

As it stood in the corner smiling. 
And blessed the time with a merry chime, 

The wintry hours beguiling ; 
But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, 

As it called at daybreak boldly. 
When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way. 

And the early air blew coldly ; 
Tick, tick, it said, — quick, out of bed. 

For five I've given warning; 
You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth, 

Unless you 're up soon in the morning. 

Still hourly the sound goes round and round, 
With a tone that ceases never ; 



ALADDIN'S LAMP. IT 

While tears are shed for the bright days fled, 

And the old friends lost for ever ! 
Its heart beats on, — though hearts are gone 

That warmer beat and younger; 
Its hands still move, — though hands we love 

Are clasped on earth no longer ! 
Tick, tick, it said, — to the churchyard bed, 

The Grave hath given warning, — 
Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies, 

And prepare for a Heavenly morning ! 



ALADDIN'S LAMP. 

Oh ! had I but Aladdin's lamp, 

Though only for a day, 
I 'd try to find a link to bind 

The joys that pass away ! 
I'd try to bring an angel's wing 

Upon the earth again. 
And build True Worth a throne on earth, 

A throne beloved by men ! 
It should be May, and always May, — 

I 'd wreathe the world with flowers ; 
I'd robe the barren wilderness, 

And bring life happy hours ! 

I'd soothe the lorn and desolate, 

Increase the widow's store ; 
And Industry should wear a smile 

It never wore before ! 
2 



18 MAIDEN BEAUTY. 

Where'er there dwelt unhappiness, 

I 'd speed my magic way ; 
And none should be in poverty, 

Nor fear the coming day ! 
It should be May, — and always May, ■ 

I 'd wreathe the world with flowers ; 
I 'd robe the barren wilderness. 

And bring life happy hours ! 



MAIDEN BEAUTY. 

Her hand 's like a lily, — 

But just at the tip 
It hath stolen a tint 

Like the hue of her lip ! 
Her breath 's like the morning, 

AVhen hyacinths blow ; 
Her feet leave a blessing 

Wherever they go ! 

For each one she 's something 

To comfort or cheer ; 
When her purse fails her wishes. 

She gives them a tear ! 
E'en the sound of her step 

Seems to bring them relief; 
And they bless that sweet face 

Which speaks hope 'mid their grief! 

Her mouth 's like a rose-bud, 
Just budding half through, 



IMAGINARY EVILS. 19 

When it opens at morn 

Amidst fragrance and dew ; 
And her heart is a dwelling 

Where anojels midit rest, 
And forget their own heaven 

In that of her breast ! 



IMAGINARY EVILS. 

Let to-mori'ow take care of to-morrow, — 

Leave things of the future to fate ; 
AVhat 's the use to anticipate sorrow ? — 

Life's troubles come never too late ! 
K to hope overmuch be an error, 

'T is one that the wise have preferred ; 
And how often have hearts been in terror 

Of evils that never occurred. 

Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee, — 

Permit not suspicion and care 
With invisible bonds to enchain thee. 

But bear what God gives thee to bear. 
By His spirit supported and gladdened, 

Be ne'er by " forebodings " deterred ; 
But think how oft hearts have been saddened 

By fear of what never occurred. 

Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow : 
Short and dark as our life may appear, 



20 THE CORNER. 

We may make it still darker by sorrow, — 
Still shorter by folly and fear ! 

Half our troubles are half our invention, 
And often from blessings conferred 

Have we shrunk, in the wild apprehension 
Of evils that never occurred. 



THE CORNER. 

The seat in the corner — 

What comfort we see 
In that type of affection. 

Where love bends the knee ; 
When the prayers of our childhood 

We learned to repeat. 
And the lips of a mother 

Made holiness sweet. 

The name of a corner 

Has something still dear. 
That tells us of pleasures 

Ne'er bought Avith a tear : 
Of loved ones remembered. 

Of faces, once gay, 
That have fled like a dream, 

Like a vision away. 

In our letters, full often. 
Kind sayings abound ; 



DOWN THE FROZEN VALLEY. 21 

But still in the corner 

The kindest is found: 
We look to the postscript, 

And there, written small, 
We find in the corner 

Words dearer than all ! 

Our heart receives many 

We love with good-will, 
But who gets the corner 
• Is loved the best still : 
For the heart hath its corner, 

And dear is the one 
Who remains its possessor 

Till life's love is gone. 



DOWN THE FROZEN VALLEY. 

Down the frozen valley, 

Down the mountain side 
Lo, the Morn is coming, 

Like a timid bride : 
High the hill-tops round her 

Glow with sudden grace ; 
Blushing as with pleasure, 

When they meet her face. 

Swift the snowy meadow 
Seems to bloom anew, — 



22 SKETCH FROM LIFE. 

Purple, gold, and crimson ; — 
Flowers of li;j;bt and dew ! 

See, from thorn and willow 
Wake the lyric throng; 

From each bouoli of diamonds 



Never dawn of summer — 

Never morn of spring — 
From their laps of roses 

Could more beauty fling : 
All the snowy landscape, 

All the bright blue air, 
Seem as pure and perfect, 

As if Heaven were there. 



SKETCH FROM LIFE. 

Few faces are fairer — few features are sweeter — 

Few hearts half so noble or kind as her own, 
And happy the beings permitted to meet her, 

And dwell in the light her affection hath thrown. 
A day never rises, but still she devises 

Some way to do good — to assist the forlorn — 
The dark to enlighten — the dreary to brighten — 

To scatter life's rose, but sequester its thorn. 

Whate'er be the station — whatever the nation — 
Her standard of excellence centres in worth ; 



GIVE ME THE PEOPLE. 23 

Her noble impression is that the possession 
Of talent outrivals the tinsel of earth. 

She honors the mental far more than the rental — 
Far more than the earthly she loves the divine ; 

And thinks that the gifted are loftier lifted 

Than they who find fame but at Fashion's gilt 
shrine. 

Thus gracing, adorning — life's beautiful morn- 
ing — 
Thus more and more honored the more she is 
known, 
Affection hath found her with Friendship around 
her. 
Enchanting all hearts and inspiring her own. 
Thus loving, and seeing, the flowers of her being 

Grow round her in beauty — her spirit is blessed ; 
And still her endeavor is eager as ever 

To comfort the lowly and aid the distressed. 



GIVE ME THE PEOPLE. 

Some love the glow of outward show, 

Some love mere wealth and try to win it : 
The house to me may lowly be, 

If I but like the people in it. 
What 's all the gold that glitters cold. 

When linked to hard or haughty feeling? 
Whate'er we're told, the nobler gold 

Is truth of heart and manly dealing ! 



24 OLD FRIENDS TOGETHEK. 

Then let tliem seek, whose minds are weak, 
Mere fashion's smile, and try to win it; 

The house to me may lowly be, 
If I but like the peo2:>le in it ! 

A lowly roof may give us proof 

That lowly flowers are often fairest ; 
And trees, whose bark is hard and dark, 

May yield us fruit, and bloom the rarest ! 
There 's a worth as sure 'neath garments poor, 

As e'er adorned a loftier station ; 
And minds as just as those, we trust, 

Whose claim is but of wealth's creation ! 
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak. 

Mere fashion's smile, and try to win it; 
The house to me may lowly be. 

If I but like the people in it ! 



OLD FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

I. 

Oh, time is sweet, when roses meet 

With Spring's sweet breath around them ; 
And sweet the cost, when hearts are lost, 

If those we love have found them ! 
And sweet the Mind, that still can fmd 

A star in darkest weather ! 
But nought can be so sweet to see, 

As old friends met together ! 



GIVE ME A FRESHENING BREEZE. 25 

II. 

Those days of old, when youth was bold, 

And Time stole wings to speed it, 
And youth ne'er knew how fast time flew — 

Or knowing, did not heed it ! 
Though gray each brow that meets us now — 

For age brings wintry weather — 
Yet nought can be so sweet to see 

As those old friends together! 

III. 

The few long known, that years have shown, 

AVith hearts that friendship blesses ; 
A hand to cheer — perchance, a tear 

To soothe a friend's distresses ! 
That helped and tried — still side by side — 

A friend to face hard weather ; 
Oh, thus may ive yet joy to see, 

And meet old friends together ! 



GIVE ME A FRESHENING BREEZE. 

Give me a fresh'ning breeze ahead. 

While swift, the broad prow dips ; 
AVhile far and wide the foam is spread, 

And the salt is on our lips : 
Like winged steeds the billoAvs leap, 

Their white manes dashed with brine ; 
Hurrah ! there 's nothing like the deep. 

Where'er the sun may shine. 



26 A VIOLET. 

Where'er the sun may shine, my boys, 

There 's nothing like the sea ; 
The spirit never soars so high, 

The heart ne'er bounds so free, 
As when the briny billows bear 

With giant arms the ship : 
I seem e'en now to taste the air 

Of freedom on my lip ! 

Of freedom on my lip, my boys, 

The dash, the foam, the spray ; 
The chorus of the elements, 

Rough sounding on their way : 
The laughing surges on our lee, 

Careering in their mirth : 
Hurrah ! one hour upon the sea 

Is worth a year on earth. 



A VIOLET. 

A VIOLET in her lovely hair, 
A rose upon her bosom fair, 

But oh ! her eyes 
A lovelier violet disclose, 
And her ripe lips the sweetest rose 

That 's 'neath the skies. 

A lute beside her graceful hand 
Breathes music forth at her command, 
But still her tonjiue 



THE CHAMOIS HUNTERS. 27 

Far richer music calls to birth 

Than all the minstrel power on earth 



And thus she moves in tender light, 
The purest ray, where all is bright, 

Serene and sweet ; 
And sheds a graceful influence round, 
That hallows e'en the very ground 

Beneath her feet. 



THE CHAMOIS HUNTERS. 
I. 
Away to the Alps ! for the hunters are there, 
To rouse the chamois, in his rock-vaulted lair. 
From valley to mountain, see ! — swiftly they go — 
As the ball from the rifle — the shaft from the bow. 
Nor chasms, nor glaciers, their firmness dismay ; 
Undaunted, they leap like young leopards at play ; 
And the dash of the torrent sounds welcome and 

dear. 
As the voice of a friend to the wanderer's ear. 

II. 

They reck not the music of hound or of horn — 
The neigh of the courser — the gladness of morn. 
The blasts of the tempest their dark sinews brace ; 
And the wilder the danger, the sweeter the chase. 
With spirits as strong as their footsteps are light. 
On — onward they speed, in the joy of their might: 



28 KEEP THE HEART LIGHT AS YOU CAN. 

Till eve gathers round them, and silent and deep — 
The bleak snow their pillow — the wild hunters sleep. 



KEEP THE HEART LIGHT AS YOU CAN. 

We have always enough to bear, — 

We have always a something to do, — 
We have never to seek for care. 

When we have the world to jret through ! 
But what though Adversity test 

The courage and vigor of man ? — 
They get through misfortune the best 
Who keep the heart light as they can ! 
Though there 's always enough to bear, 

There is always a something to do ; 
We have never to seek for care. 

When we have the world to get through ! 

If we shake not the load from the mind, 

Our energy 's sure to be gone ; 
We must wrestle with care, or we '11 find 

Two loads are less easy than one ! 
To sit in disconsolate mood 

Is a poor and a profitless plan ; 
The true heart is never subdued. 
If we keep it as light as we can, 

Though there 's always enough to bear, 

There is always a something to do ; 
We have never to seek for care, 

When we have the world to get through 



YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW. 29 

There's nothing that sorrow can yield, 

Excepting a harvest of pain ; 
Far better to seek fortune's field, 
And till it and plough it again ! 
The weight that Exertion can move. 

The gloom that Decision may span, 
The manhood within us but prove ! — 
Then keep the heart light as you can. 

Though there 's always enough to bear. 

There is always a something to do ; 
We have never to seek for care, 

When we have the world to get through ! 



YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW. 

As the sun now glows on earth. 

Ages have beheld it glow.; 
As the flowers now spring to birth. 

Sprang they thousand years ago : 
So each day must pass away, — ■ 

Bringing smiles or sending sorrow ; 
As the world was yesterday. 

So 'twill be to-morrow, love. 
So 't will be to-morrow. 

Wherefore should we own our pain, 
Since the pain, like all things, goeth ? 

Where's the wisdom to complain. 
Since our feeling no one knoweth ? 

Hearts may bloom, yet show no flowers. 
Eyes may mourn, yet hide their sorrow ; 



oO A SWING OF THE GATE. 

As the world went yesterday, 
So 't will go to-morrow, love, 
So 't will go tomorrow. 

Life is like the wind that blows. 

When the clouds of morn are breaking; 
Life is like the stream that flows, — 

Something leaving, — something taking! 
Better cherish what we may. 

Than recall the past, with sorrow ; 
As the world rolled yesterday, 

So 'twill roll to-morrow, love, 
So 't Avill roll to-morroAv. 



A SWING OF THE GATE. 

A SWING of the gate, and a loud, loud rap, 

When the beams of the morning their red couch 
leave. 

Never startle the heart like a single tap. 

That's heard in the silence and sweetness of eve! 

A visit at noon never touches the heart ; [ceive ; 

Ne'er at noon may a glance for a moment de- 
Nor whisper, nor music a magic impart. 

Like the music — the whisper — we listen at eve ! 

At evening the angels look down from above. 
And they that have dbubted rejoice, and believe 

At evening the earth breathes a spirit of love, 
And that is the reason we maidens love eve ! 



MORNING. 3 1 



MORNING. 



O'er the bending rushes, 

O'er the waving corn, 
Where the fountain gushes, 

Speed the wings of Morn ; 
Like a bird in fleetness, 

Singing on her way — 
Fold me in thy sweetness 

Angel light of day ! 

Flow'rets without number, 

As thy footsteps pass, 
Lift their heads from slumber 

Out the dewy grass. 
Down the lowly meadow, 

Up the rising ground, 
Waves of light and shadow 

Chase each other round. 

From the wild bee's humming, 

From the choral throng. 
Know we thou art coming, 

Bringing life and song : 
Oh ! thou golden Morning, 

Brightest boon of earth ; 
Mead and mount adorning. 

Blessed be thy birth ! 



32 CONCEIT. 

CONCEIT. 

Oh ! have you all the beauty youth e'er knew 

That you 're so vain ? 
Less pride might serve, if even It were true; 

And you might gain 
By humbler shoAv of graces you possess ; 
The haughty bearing makes the charm the less. 

Nor Is your beauty every thing to praise ; 

Although your glass 
Reflect so fair a vision to your gaze, 

And, as you pass, 
A form, with something of patrician air ; 
Yet hath the world some faces quite as fair. 

And eyes as blue, and ringlets just as curled, 

And lips of rose ; — 
You have not all the beauty in the world, 

As you suppose : 
And if you had, — 'tis easy to be seen 
What beauty loses with so proud a mien ! 



THE OLD THORN. 

Thou art gray, old Thorn, and leafless- 
Leafless, though the Spring be near ; 

But my love hath sat beside thee, 
And each branch of thine is dear! 



IT WAS THE EARLY WINTER. 

Thou art small, green cot, and humble ; 

Little in thy looks to cheer ; 
But my true love dwells within thee, 

And each stone of thine is dear. 

Love makes all things sweet and holy, 
All things bright, however drear ; 

All things high, however lowly ; — 
What were Life were Love not here ? 



IT WAS THE EARLY WINTER. 



It was the early winter, 

The snow was on the ground. 
When first my beauteous maiden. 

My flower of love I found : 
She passed me with a timid step, 

A soft and downcast eye ; 
My feelings mounted to my cheek. 

When first my love passed by. 

II. 
I saw her gain the cottage, 

And yet I lingered near ; 
Around me breathed a maf^ic — 

Life never seemed so dear ! 
My spirit in a golden ring 

Of beauty had been bound : 
It was the early winter, 

The snow was on the ground. 



34 WHERE DWELLS THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



I saw her on the Sabbath, 

I ventured near her side ; 
Oh, how I prayed to Providence 

That she might be my bride ! 
And soon my fondest hopes were blest, 

Whilst bells did sweetly sound: 
It was the early winter. 

The snow was on the ground. 



WHERE DWELLS THE FAIRY QUEEN? 

Where dwells the Fairy Queen ? 

Where is her bower ? 
In the fold of the leaf — 

In the cup of the flower : 
Shake not the violet, 

There may she rest ; 
Break not a dew-drop, 

'T will drown her sweet breast. 

What seeks the Fairy Queen ? 

Ever to move 
Girdled by beauty ; 

Encircled by love ! 
To whisper to childhood 

When sorrow is nigh : 
When the heart hath its tear — 

And the Up hath its sigh ! 



ENOUGH AND TO SPARE. 35 

Star of the fairy-land, 

Once came thy beam, 
Bringing such visions 

As angels might dream ! 
Soon the world's shadows 

Their loveliness crossed ; 
Man never findeth 

What Childhood hath lost ! 



ENOUGH AND TO SPARE. 

Enough and to spare 

Is an excellent thing ; 
*T is a song — for my share — 

I 'd be happy to sing ! 
But my pathway is rough. 

And my griefs not a few ! 
I get little enough, 

And that little must do ! 

Enough and to spare ! — 

Oh ! the joy there would be — 
Oh ! the freedom from care. 

Were that boon but foB me ! 
But my fortune 's too gruif. 

Such a bounty to strew ; — 
Less than little enough 

Very often must do ! 

Enough and to spare ! 

What a number I 'd bless ; 



36 THE CHERRY TREE. 

No face should then wear 
Any mark of distress : 

If their pathway was rough, 
Oh ! I 'd lighten it too ; 

But with little enough 
We but little can do ! 



THE CHERRY TREE. 

" Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.'*' 

When the dew-drop glitters clear, 
In the golden atmosphere, 

Glad and gay 

The blossoms play, 
While the spring birds carol near. 

And the young tree, bending low, 
Whiter seems than silver bow ; 

Or the skies, 

AMien moonlight lies 
In the south, like piles of snow. 

But these beauties of the trees. 
Yet untouched by blight or breeze, 

Soon must fade, 

And be decayed : 
Youth leaves all things by degrees. 

Time sweeps on 'mid smiles or gloom, 
Earlv fruitai^e follows bloom, 



PASSING THY DOOK. 37 

Gleaming bright 
With ruby hght, 
And dancing 'mid the air's perfume ! 

Yet, when unto sweetness grown, 
All must fall, and be o'erthrown : 

Left no more 

Of beauty's store, 
Than the poor dry stalk and stone ! — 

Thus hath Man as brief a boon, — 
A little summer, — passing soon, — 

And then the stone, — 

The churchyard lone, 
And ghosts that glide beneath the moon 1 



PASSING THY DOOR. 

Oh ! 't was the world to me, 

Life too, and more ; — 
Catching a glance of thee 

Passing thy door. 
Faint as an autumn leaf 

Trembling to part ; 
So, in that moment brief, 

Trembled my heart ! 

Nothing I saw but thee, 
Nothing could find ; — 

Vision had fled from me, 
Lingering behind ! 



38 THE WORLD. 

How I liad passed along, 
How found my way, 

Sightless amidst the throng - 
Love could but say ! 

How I had moved my feet 

I never knew ; 
I had seen nothing, sweet, 

Since I'd seen you! 
Oh ! 't was the world to me, 

Life too — and more — 
Catching a glance of thee, 

Passing thy door. 



THE WORLD. 

Want sense, and the world will o'erlook it ; 

Want feeling, — 't will find some excuse ; 
But if the world knows you want money. 

You 're certain to get its abuse ; 
The wisest advice in existence, 

Is ne'er on its kindness to call ; 
The best way to get its assistance, 

Is — shoAv you don't need it at all ! 

"Man's the Gold ! " said the bard, with a feeling 

That still his discretion outran ; 
For each day of our life is revealing 

The bard should have said, — " Gold is Man." 



SONG AND SUMMER. 39 

Gold is genius, and greatness, and merit ; 

Want gold — you want all that gold brings ! 
But \i fortune you only inherit. 

The world will excuse other things. 



SONG AND SUMMER. 

Whilst the golden hand of Morn 

Scatters roses o'er the sky, 
And the south wind, newly born, 

Wanders full of odor by, — 
Sing, — for summer speedeth fast ! 

Sing, — and every pleasure share ! 
Soon, alas, the wintry blast, 

Strips the woodland bare, 
Sweet bird, 

Strips the woodland bare ! 

Sing, and make the Morn thy friend, 

Circle round each happy tree. 
Where thy brother mates attend, 

Full of joyous liberty ! 
Speed thy wing from spray to spray, 

Teach the world thy merry song ; 
Swiftly summer glides away, 

Pleasure lasts not long, 
Sweet bird. 

Pleasure lasts not long ! 



40 BREAKERS ON THE WEATHER BOW. 



HO! BREAKERS ON THE WEATHER 
BOAV. 

Ho ! breakers on the weather bow, 

And hissing white the sea ; 
Go, loose the topsail, mariner, 

And set the helm a-lee : 
And set the helm a-lee, my boys, 

And shift her while ye may ; 
^ Or not a living soul on board 

Will view the light of day. 

Aloft the seaman daringly 

Shook out the rattling sail ; 
The danger fled — she leapt a-head 

Like wild stag through the gale : 
Like wild stag through the gale, my boys. 

All panting as in fear. 
And trembling as her spirit knew 

Destruction in the rear ! 

Now slacken speed — take wary heed — 

All hands haul home the sheet; 
To Him who saves, amidst the waves, 

Let each their prayer repeat : 
Let each their prayer repeat, my boys. 

For but a moment's gain 
Lay 'tween our breath and instant death 

Within that howling main. 



WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNG. 41 



WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNG. 

Oh ! merry goes the time when the heart is young, 
There is nought too high to climb when the heart is 
young ; 
A spirit of delight 
Scatters roses in her flight, 
And there 's magic in the night when the heart is 
young. 

But weary go the feet when the heart is old. 
Time cometh not so sweet when the heart is old ; 
From all that smiled and shone, 
There is something lost and gone. 
And our friends are few — or none — when the 
heart is old. 

Oh! sparkling are the skies when the heart is 

young, [young; 

There is bliss in beauty's eyes when the heart is 

The golden break of day 

Brings gladness in its ray. 
And every month is May when the heart is young. 

But the sun is setting fast when the heart is old, 
And the sky is overcast when the heart is old ; 

Life's worn and weary bark 

Lies tossing wild and dark, 
And the star hath left Hope's ark when the heart 
is old. 



42 SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME. 

Yet an angel from its sphere, though the heart be 

old, 
Whispers comfort in our ear, though the heart be 
old. 
Saying, " Age, from out the tomb, 
Shall immortal youth assume. 
And Spring eternal bloom, where no heart is old ! " 



SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME. 

Though, when other maids stand by, 
I may deign thee no reply. 
Turn not then away, and sigh, — 

Smile and never heed me ! 
If our love, indeed, be such, 
As must thrill at every touch. 
Why should others learn as much, — 

Smile and never heed me ! 

Wliere 's the use that they should know 
If one's heart beat fast or slow ? — 
Deepest love avoideth show, — 

Smile and never heed me. 
Let our hearts, like stars of night, 
Shunning day's intrusive light, 
Live but for each other's sight, — 

Smile and never heed me. 

Even if, with maiden pride, 
I should bid thee quit my side, 



PROCRASTINATION. 43 

Take this lesson for thy guide, — 

Smile and never heed me I 
But when stars and twilight meet, 
And the dew is falling sweet, 
And thou hear'st my coming feet, — 

Then — thou then — may'st heed me ! 



PROCRASTINATION. 

Alas ! how neglectful, 

Unfeeling we tread ! 
How careless, forgetful. 

Of benefits fled! 
When the hopes we have tasted 

Are lost, we deplore. 
And sigh for time wasted 

We ne'er may see more ! 
Resolving — repenting — 

Still day after day. 
Whilst angels lamenting 

Drop tears on our way. 

Could man read Time's pages, 

Record every scene I 
He 'd find, through Life's stages, 

How oft he had been 
Too full of inventions 

To satisfy thought — 
Too rife with intentions 

That dwindled to nought ! 



44 TRUE LOVELINESS. 

Still taxing tomorrow, 
Still wasting to-day — 

"Whilst angels in sorrow 
Dropped tears on Ins way. 



TRUE LOVELINESS. 

She who thinks a noble heart 
Better than a noble mien — 

Honors virtue more than art, 

Though 't is less in fashion seen — 

Whatsoe'er her fortune be. 

She 's the bride — the wife — for me ! 

She who deems that inward grace 
Far surpasses outward show. 

She who values less the face 

Than that charm the soul can throw, 

Whatsoe'er her fortune be, 

She 's the bride — the Avife — for me I 

She who knows the heart requires 
Something more than lips of dew — 

That when Love's brief rose expires, 
Love itself dies with it too — • 

Whatsoe'er her fortune be, 

She 's the bride — the wife — for me ! 



LOVE GIFTS. 45 



LOVE GIFTS. 



I've brought thee spring roses, 

Sweet roses to wear, 
Two buds for thy bosom 

And one for thy hair ; 
I've brought thee new ribands 

Thy beauty to deck. 
Light blue for thy love- waist, 

And white for thy neck ! 

Oh, bright is the beauty 

That wooes thee to-night ; 
But brighter aifection. 

And lasting as bright ! 
I've brought thee, what's better 

Than ribands or rose — 
A heart that will shield thee 

Whatever wind blows ! 

'Tis gladness to view thee. 

Thus beaming and gay ; 
And walking in sweetness 

As if thou wert May ! 
The spring of thy being 

As lovely to see ; 
And, oh ! what 's diviner, 

Affianced to me ! 



46 THE buccaneer's SONG. 



THE BUCCANEER'S SONG. 
I. 

I LOVE the Night, when the gale sweeps high, 

And the summer-calms are o'er ; 
When the ship, like an Ocean-steed, leaps by 

Where the midland breakers roar ! 
I love the Night, and the startling light 

Of the Spirit of the Storm ; 
And better the blast, and the rocking mast, 

Than the sunset mild and warm ! 



No love have I for the starry eve — 

No joy on the breezeless main — 
But I long to hear the tempest grieve, 

And list the thunder-strain ! 
Let the gondola glide o'er the moonlight tide, 

And the mandolin wake its song ; 
I love the bark, when the seas are dark, 

And the midnight wild and long ! 



I turn away from the lover's lay — 

'Tis weariness to hear 
The lisping note, and the warbling throat, 

Of the sighing Cavalier ! 
Oh ! the Ocean-shout, when the Storm is out, 

Is a nobler strain to me ; 
Here would I sleep, where the billows leap. 

On the bold, unconquered Sea ! 



THE COQUETTE. 47 



THE COQUETTE. 

Whatsoe'er she vowed to-day^ — 
Ere a week had fled away 

She 'd refuse me ! 
And shall I her steps pursue, — 
Follow still, — and fondly woo ? — 

No ! — excuse me ! 

If she love me, — it were kind 
Just to teach her her own mind ; — 

Let her lose me ! 
For no more I '11 seek her side, — 
Court her favor, — feed her pride : 

No ! — excuse me ! 

If in idle, vain display, 
She can cast my love away, 

And thus use me ; 
For a fickle heart, at best, 
Shall I grieve, and lose my rest ? — 

No ! — excuse me ! 

Let her frown, — frowns never kill ; 
Let her shun me if she will, — 

Hate, — abuse me ; — 
Shall I bend 'neath her annoy ? 
Bend, — and make my heart her toy ? 

No ! — excuse me ! 



48 SUMMER, COME. 



SUMMER, COME. 

Radiant from thy throne of morn, 

Summer, come ! 
Spring hath wreathed the blossomed thorn, 
Roses wait thee to be born — 

Summer, come ! 
Come, — there 's glory on the lea, 
Song of insect, bird, and bee: 
Earth is calling but for thee — 

Summer, come ! 

Whither would'st thou wing so soon ? — 

Summer, stay ! 
What though fled each fleeting boon, 
Fled the rosy joy of June — 

Summer, stay ! 
In thy light our love was cast, — 
Link some feeling to the Past ; 
Leave us not to meet the blast ! — 

Summer, stay ! 

She is gone —-her reign was brief — 

Autumn shows 
Field and vale with golden sheaf, — 
Hurries fast the falling leaf 

To its close ; 
Whilst the shortening day afar 
Cometh on its cloudy car ; — 
And, 'midst elemental war, 

AVinter blows! 



THE husband's SONG. 49 



THE HUSBAND'S SONG. 

Rainy and rough sets the day, 

There 's a heart beating for somebody ; 
I must be up and away, — 

Somebody 's anxious for somebody. 
Thrice hath she been to the gate, 

Thrice hath she listened for somebody ; 
'JMidst the night, stormy and late, 

Somebody 's waiting for somebody. 

There'll be a comforting fire, 

There '11 be a welcome for somebody ; 
One, in her neatest attire. 

Will look to the table for somebody. 
Though the star 's fled from the west, 

There is a star yet for somebody, 
Lighting the home he loves best, — 

Warming the bosom of somebody. 

There '11 be a coat o'er the chair. 
There will be slippers for somebody ; 

There '11 be a wife's tender care, — 
Love's fond embracement for somebody. 

There '11 be the little one's char 



rms. 



Soon 'twill be wakened for somebody : 
When I have both in my arms. 

Oh ! but how blest will be somebody ! 
4 



50 THE OUrUAN BOY. 



THE ORPHAN BOY. 

TnE room is old, — the night is cold, — 

But night is ilearer far than day ; 
For then, in dreams, to Jihn it s^'oms, 

That she's returned who's gone away ! 
His tears are passed, — he clasps her iast, -^ 

Again she holds him on her knee ; 
And, — in his sleej), — he nuirnuirs deep, 

" Oh ! INIother, go no more Irom me I " 

But morning breaks, the child awakes, — 

The Dreamer's hai)py dream hath lied ; 
The fields look sear, and cold, and di-eai-, — 

Like orphans, mourning Sununer (K'ad ! — 
The "wild birds spring, on shivering wing, 

Or, cheerless, chirp from tree to tree ; 
And still he cries, Avith weeping eyes, 

" Oh ! JNIother dear, come back to me ! " 

Can no one tell where angels dwell ? — 

He's called them oft till day grew dim ; 
If they were near, — and they could hear, — 

He thinks they'd bring her back to hlni ! - 
" Oh ! angels sweet, conduct my feet," 

He cries, '' where'ei' her home may be ; 
Oh ! lead me on to Avhere she 's gone, 

Or bring mv Mother back to me ! " 



don't say one TUING and MKAN ANOTIIKU. 51 



DON'T SAY ONP: THING AND MEAN 
ANOTHER. 

The little lane, — the greenwood lane, — 

Where Mary dwelt, was gay with singing ; 
For brook and bird, in many a strain, 

Down vale and moor their notes were flinging. 
But Mary's heart was deaf to song. 

No longer she her tears could smother ; 
For she had learnt, — at last, — 'twas wrong 

To say one thing and mean another ! 

'Tis right, — 'tis due, when hearts are true, 

To show that heart without deceiving, 
And not to speak, in idle freak, 

To try if one 's the poicer of grieving ! 
In Mary's heart, and jSIary's mind. 

She loved one youth, — and loved no other ; 
But Mary's tongue was oft inclined 

To say one thing and mean another ! 

Would all might see how sweet 'twould be, 

If truth alone their words directed ; 
How many a day miglit then be gay, 

That passeth now in tears, dejected. 
Would all might learn, and all discern, 

The truth keeps longest, friend or brother : 
Then maids be kind, and speak your mind, 

Nor say one thing and mean another! 



52 AT THE PARTING OF DAY. 



AT THE PARTING OF DAY. 

At the parting of day, when the west shone in 

state, 
I saw a young maid leaning over a gate ; 
" Day is leaving the sky, pretty maiden," said I, 

" And the night its rich glory eclipses : 
Why stay you so late, by this old lonely gate V " 
Said she, " Sir, I 'm afraid of the gipsies, 

The gipsies, — 
Kind sir, I 'm afraid of the gipsies ! " , 

Not far had I roved, where the gipsy tents lay, 
When I met a young man speeding swift on his 

way; 
" You 're in haste, sir, I see, — what affair may it bo, 

That your foot the best runner eclipses ? " 
" Sir," he said, " there's a maid it's important to aid, 
Who 's sadly afraid of the gipsies, 

The gipsies, — 
Who 's sadly afraid of the gipsies ! 

" Their tents are close by, — there are robbers 

about. 
And she 's sorely alarmed, for the watch-dogs are 

ou-t ; " 
Said I, " Danger there 's sure, — see your lieart be 

secure, — 
There's a thief who all other eclipses, — 



OH I WHAT A WORLD IT MIGHT BE ! 53 

One who steals with a smile, — one whose glances 
beguile, 
And I warn you take care of such gipsies. 

Such gipsies, — 
Oh ! I warn you beware of such gipsies ! " 



Oil! WHAT A WORLD IT MIGHT BE! 

Oh ! what a world it might be, 

If hearts were always kind; 
If, Friendship, none would slight thee, 

And Fortune prove less blind ! 
With Love's own voice to guide us — 

t^nchangingly and fond — 
With all we wish beside us, 

And not a care beyond. 
Oh I what a world it might be ; 

More blest than that of yore : 
Come, learn, and 't will requite ye, 

To love each other more. 

Oh ! what a world of beauty 

A loving heart might plan — 
If man but did his* duty. 

And helped his brother man ! 
Then angel-guests would brighten 

The threshold with their wings, 
And Love divine enlighten 

The old, forgotten springs. 



54 DO A GOOD TURN WHEN YOU CAN. 

Oil ! what a world of beauty 
A loving heart might plan — 

If man but did his duty, 

A?id helped his brother man ! 



DO A GOOD TURN WHEN YOU CAN. 

It needs not great wealth a kind heart to display, — 

If the hand be but willing, it soon finds a way; 

And the poorest one yet in the humblest abode 

May help a poor brother a step, on his road. 

Oh ! whatever the fortune a man may have won, 

A kindness depends on the way it is done ; 

And though poor be our purse, and though narrow 

our span. 
Let us all try to do a good turn when we can. 

The bright bloom of pleasure may charm for a 

while. 
But its beauty is frail, and inconstant its smile ; 
Whilst the beauty of kindness, immortal in bloom. 
Sheds a sweetness o'er life, and a grace o'er the 

tomb ! 
Then if we enjoy life, why, the next thing to do, 
Is to see that another enjoys his life too ; 
And though poor be our purse, and though narrow 

our span. 
Let us all try to do a good turn when we can. 



PAST THE HOUR. 55 



PAST THE HOUR. 

Sure, I've sought the gate so long, 

E'en the hedges know me ; 
Birds hiugh at me in their song, — 

Streams reflect, and show me ! 
Not a flower that smiles so sweet, 

Seems my grief to soften ; 
E'en the meadow hates my feet, 

I 've been there so often ! 
But if e'er I pass this way, — 
Meet her on a future day, — 
May I hush ! yet stay, — yet stay, 

Don't I hear her coming ? 

Coming ? — no, 't was but the trees, — - 

Night and storm are coming ; 
E'en the very wasps and bees, 

Mock me with their humming ! 
Yowed she not, by all that 's just, — 

All that 's true, she 'd meet me ? 
And 't is thus she wrongs my trust, — 

And 'tis thus she'd cheat me ! 
But if e'er again I 'm cast 
In such meshes as the past. 
May I 'tis her step at last ! — 

Now, indeed^ she 's coming ! 

Oh ! my love ! my life's delight ! 
Treasure of my being! 



56 BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES. 

All my sorrow 's put to fliglit, 

Thee, my sweet one, seeing ! 
Yet, how could'st thou keep me here, 

Heart and spirit failing ? 
How ? — but, no ! we '11 have no tear, 

'T is no time for railing ; 
For, despite thy wayward freaks. 
Still my heart in rapture speaks, — 
'T would stay waiting tAventy weeks. 

But to see thee coming ! 



BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES. 

At the purple close of evening, 

Careless Bacchus sleeping lay ; 
Pirates, from the coast of Naxos, 

Bore him to their deck away : 
When the slumb'ring god awakened, 

Wond'ring he beheld the deep ; 
While the Pirates laughing told him. 

Boys should ne'er be caught asleep ! 

Ha ! ha ! Bacchus ! — ha ! ha ! Bacchus ! 
Boys should ne'er be caught asleep. 

As they jeered green vines kept springing, 

Rich as fed by southern gales ; 
From each plank their broad leaves flinging, 

Mingling with the cords and sails ! 
Circling mast and spar, like Beauty 

Round the neck of wan-ior brave ; 



TAKE THE WOULD AS IT IS. 67 

Whilst the ship, unfit for duty, 
Lay all helpless on the wave : 

Ha ! ha ! Bacchus ! — ha ! ha ! Bacchus I 
Who 's the captor ? — who 's the slave ? 

All amazed the Pirates gazing, 

Watched the clustering grapes ascend — - 
To the topmast spar aspiring. 

As their richness ne'er would end: 
Then the Pirates, lowly kneeling. 

Strove to turn the boy-god's frown ; 
But the ship, like drunkard reeling, 

With a sudden shriek went down ; 

Ha ! ha ! Bacchus ! — ha ! ha ! Bacchus ! 
Fathoms deep the traitors drown. 



TAKE THE WORLD AS IT IS. 

Take the world as it is ! — there are good and bad 
in it — 

And good and bad will be from now to the end ; 
And they, who expect to make saints in a minute, 

Are in danger of marring more hearts than 
they '11 mend. 
If ye wish to be happy ne'er seek for the faults, 

Or you're sure to find something or other amiss; 
'Mid much that debases, and much that exalts, 

The world 's not a bad one if left as it is ! 

Take the world as it is ! — if the surface be shining, 
Ne'er rake up the sediment liidden below ! 



58 'twas on a SUNDAY MORNING. 

There 's wisdom in this, but there 's none in repin- 
ing 
O'er things which can rarely be mended, we 
know. 
There 's beauty around us, which let us enjoy ; 
And chide not, unless it may be with a kiss ; 
Though Earth's not the Heaven we thought when 
a boy, 
There 's something to live for, if ta'en as it is ! 

Take the world as it is ! — with its smiles and its 
sorrow, truth — 

Its love and its friendship — its falsehood and 
Its schemes that depend on the breath of to-morrow ! 

Its hopes which pass by like the dreams of our 
youth — 
Yet, oh ! whilst the light of affection may shine, 

The heart in itself hath a fountain of bliss ! 
In the li'orst there 's some spark of a nature divine, 

And the wisest and best take the ivorld as it is. 



'TWAS ON A SUNDAY MORNING. 

'T WAS on a Sunday morning, 

Before the bells did peal, 
A note came through my window 

With " Cupid " on its seal ; 
And soon I heard a whisper, 

As soft as seraphs sing : — 
'T was on a Sunday morning. 

Before the bells did ring. 



'twas on a SUNDAY MORNING. 59 

The dawn had been but cloudy, 

My heart had caught its gloom ; 
But now a sudden sunlight 

Filled all my little room : 
I kissed the note, — 't was guarded 

With riband, flower, and string : — 
'T was on a Sunday morning,*^ 

Before the bells did ring. 

Oh ! good was he, and handsome 

As any in the land. 
That vowed to me his true heart — 

His heart, and faithful hand ! 
I hui-ried through the garden. 

And back the gate did swing : — 
'T was on a Sunday morning. 

Before the bells did ring. 

My foot just turned the field-path, 

And on its turf did rest. 
When in his arms he caught me, 

And strained me to his breast : 
A tear was on his fond cheek. 

Sweet tears that love can bnng : — 
*T was on a Sunday morning, 

Before the bells did rinsr. 



CO TO THE SEA-NYMPH. 



TO THE oEA-NYMPH. 

Where thy gold-grotto stands 

By tlie rose-tloAvIug Ibuntain, 
A\Tiere the sea-nymphs link hands, 

Near the wild coral mountain : 
Under foam, under curl. 

Where the billoAv rolls widest ; 
Under the shell, under pearl, 

From the cave where thou hidest; 
Oh ! come to me, come ! 

I am loveless and lonely ; 
My lite hath no home, 

Save in thy bosom only ! 

When the tide murmurs sweet, 

While the mermaids are dancing, 
When the 'sand 'neath their feet, 

Like a silver floor 's glancing ; 
Under moss, under spray. 

Where the billow rolls clearest, 
Away, come away, 

Ever loved, ever dearest ! 
Oh ! come to me, come ! 

I am weary and lonely ; 
My life hath no home, 

Save in thy bosom only ! 



THE SEA-XYMPH'S REPLY. 61 



THE SEA-NYMPH'S REPLY. 

Far from tliis world of clay, 
Far from its toil away, 

Come, to the sea-nj-mpli, come ! 
Under the golden sea. 
There let us frolic free, 
There let us sport and sing, 
Down by the coral spring, 
Merrily — merrily — 
FHnging the silver shells, 
Ringing the crystal bells. 

Merrily — merrily. 

Far from earth's weeping bowers, 
Come to this home of ours. 

Come, to the sea-nymph, come ! 
Music shall soothe thy rest. 
Swelling from ocean's breast. 
Sweeter than e'er was heard 
From lip or singing bird. 

Heavenly — heavenly ! 
Dying in waves away, 
Soft, as when angels pray. 

Heavenly — heavenly. 



U2 TilE WAYS OF HEAVEN. 



THE WAYS OF HEAVEN. 

Secret are tLe ways of Heaven, 

Yet to some great aim they tend ; 
Often some affliction given 

Proves a blessing in the end : 
Let no vain, impatient gesture 

Question the diviner will, 
But in Faith's immortal vesture 

Wait thy mission — and be still. 

That which is the deepest sorrow 

Often proves the inmost good ; 
They Avho build upon to-morrow 

Build on ground not understood : 
Lose not then thy trust in Heaven, 

Take its counsels like a friend ; 
Often some affliction given 

troves affection — in the end ! 



THERE'S AN HOUR. 

There 's an hour when lutes are breathing 
Sounds that only love may share ; 

When the rose of life is wreathing 
Ail its sweetness on the air : 

There 's an hour when music falters 
On the lute's complaining strings ; 



DISTRESS. 63 

When the flower of feeling alters, 
And the beautiful takes wings. 

There's an hour when stars are glancing 

Through the clouds fehat meet our sight, 
When the barque of Hope comes dancing 

O'er the purple waves of night : 
There 's an hour to sorrow given — 

Swift it comes — too swiftly on : 
When the stars have passed from heaven ; 

And the barque of Hope is gone ! 



DISTRESS. 

Oh ! Distress is a ship in which many must sail, 
But, Providence with us, we '11 weather the gale ; 
If breakers ahead set our safety in doubt, 
We 'II starboard the helm — put the vessel about : 
Whilst a rag of her canvas the tempest can dare, 
We '11 baffle misfortune, and scorn to despair : 
Still true to our colors, we '11 never turn soft. 
While there 's Hope for our pilot, and Mercy aloft. 

The fair-weather sailor in luxury lies, 
Not a scowl on the wave, not a cloud on the skies ! 
But helpless he '11 prove when his fortune is checked, 
In the very first storm of adversity wrecked : 
Whilst we, bred to danger, still danger can meet ; 
Still weather distress, and misfortune defeat ; 
No matter how trying, no matter how oft, 
While there 's Hope for our pilot, and Mercy aloft. 



64 HAD THY VOICE. 



HAD THY VOICE. 

Had thy voice been less caressing, 
Had thy love been less a blessing, 
I had scaped these pangs distressing, 

Scaped these maddening tears : 
Had I listened less delighted 
When thy voavs of love were plighted. 
This lorn heart had ne'er been blighted, 

In its spring of years. 

How could I, with bosom heaving, 
List — yet think that tongue deceiving ? 
Angels would have heard beliecmg, 

Midst the stars of eve : 
Could'st thou see these cheeks decaying. 
Thy loved eyes have blest, surveying, 
Thou would'st weep at thy betraying, — 

Thou would'st gaze — and grieve ! 



FORGET NOT THE UNHAPPY. 

Forget not the unhappy 

Amid the bright and gay, 
The world can give you nothing 

It Avill not take away ; 
Make much then of the moments 

Ye never can renew, 



THE UNATTAINABLE. 65 

And forget not the unhappy, 
For, oh ! their friends are few ! 

Their friends are few, and faintly 

They whisper comfort now ; 
And offer scant assistance 

With cold and cautious brow : 
Each minute they are gazing 

Upon their watch to go : 
Oh ! forget not the unhappy, 

For kindness cometh slow ! 

Forget not the unhappy, 

Though sorrow may annoy, 
There 's something then for memory 

Hereafter to enjoy ! 
Oh ! still from Fortune's garland. 

Some flowers for otliers strew ; 
And forget not the unhappy. 

For, ah ! their friends are few. 



THE UNATTAINABLE. 

Oh ! the stars which glow not 

Save in fancy's heaven ! 
Oh ! the flowers which grow not — 

But in dream-land given ! 
Oh ! the bliss untasted 

In this world of sorrow — 
Years in visions wasted ! 

Hopes which have no morrow ! 
5 



GG MARY. 

Thougli the spell be broken, 

Yet the spirit straineth ; 
Something still unspoken 

In the heai-t remaineth : 
Glimpses from above, 

Impulses ye know not, 
In our inner love 

Hide themselves, and show not. 

Oh ! the overflowing 

Visions, and their sweetness, 
Coming thus, and going 

With unheeded fleetness ! 
Oh ! the unrecorded 

Music, that is songless ; 
Sympathies unworded ! 

Feelino-s that are tongueless ! 



MARY. 

She was not always sad and pale, 

Nor mute with thought, nor thin with care ; 
Though weeping be of slight avail. 

An aching heart is ill to bear. 

She was not always poor and lone, 
Nor friendless 'mid a world so fair ; 

But friends grow few when fortune 's flown. 
And love forgot, is hard to bear. 

And thus her youth must pass away, 

Without the rose that youth should wear. 



IN MY FAIRY GARDKN. 67 

Thus struggle hopeless day by day : — 
Oh ! sad is life — and hard to bear ! 



m MY FAIRY GARDEN. 

In my fairy garden 

There are trees of gold, 
On whose sparkling branches 

Opal buds unfold ; 
Flowers of pearl and ruby 

Meet the wond'ring sight ; 
Sands, beneath my footsteps, 
Gleam like stars of night ! 
Who would be a mortal ? 

Toiling but to gain 
What at best is little — 
And that little — vain. 

In my fairy grotto, 

Perched on emerald stems, 
Soft as polar rainbows — 

Bright as living gems — 
I have birds, whose music, 

Sweet as Eden's own. 
Floats around the garden 
To my crystal throne ! 
Who would be a mortal ? 

Living but to find 
Few the true in friendship — 
And those few — unkind ! 



68 MY POOR OLD NURSE. 

In my fairy palace 

I 've a thousand slaves, 
Who attend my summons, 
If my hand but Avaves : 
Silks of silver tissue 

Bring they to my side ; 
Whilst I lean, 'mid odors. 
Like an Eastern bride ! 
AVho Avould be a mortal ? 

Living- but to know 
That with all his knowledge. 
Knowledge is but woe ! 



MY POOR OLD NURSE. 

You 'll call me when you 're goii 

I '11 not be long away ; 
Across the field, beyond the stile, 

I don't intend to stay ! 
'T is close upon the cottage 

That you and I have seen, 
My poor old Nurse will fret so, 

And wonder I 've not been : 
My poor old Nurse ! 

Call loud, and I shall hear you, 
'Tis right below the stile ; 

I need not be a moment. 
If vou '11 but wait the while : 



love's HISTOliY. QO 

I 've only just to ask lier 

About her health, — and then 
Before the minute finger, 

I '11 huny round again : 
My poor old Nurse ! 

There was waiting in the village, 

And in the meadow near ; 
And calling by the upland stile 

For one that would not hear ! 
But on a morning early, 

Ere many days had run, 
That young and beauteous maiden 

Had wed the Nurse's son : 
My poor old Nurse's son ! 



LOVE'S HISTORY. 

By sylvan waves that westward flow, 
A harebell bent its beauty low. 
With slender waist and modest brow, 

Amidst the shades descending- 
A star looked from the paler sky. 
The harebell gazed, and Avith a sigh 
Forgot that love may look too high. 

And sorrow without ending. 



By casement hid, the flowers among, 
A maiden leaned and listened long ; 
It was the hour of love and song. 

And early night-birds calling 



70 THE KEBUKE. 

A barque across the river drew ; — 
The rose was glowing through and through 
The maiden's cheek of trenibhng hue, 
Amidst the twihght falling. 

She saw no star, she saw no flower, 
Her heart expanded to the hour ; 
She recked not of her lowly dower 

Amidst the shades descending : 
With love thus fixed upon a height 
That seemed so beauteous to the sight, 
How could she think of wrong and blight, 

And sorrow Avithout ending ? 

The harebell drooped beneath the dew, 
And closed its eye of tender blue ; 
No sun could e'er its life renew, 

Nor star, in music calling : 
The autumn leaves were early shed, 
But earlier on her cottage bed 
The maiden's loving heart lay dead, 

Amidst the twilioht fallluir ! 



THE REBUKE. 

Oh ! speak to me no more — no more — 

Nor cast your sighs away ; 
For what you think Is to adore, 

I feel is to betray. 
Your words — your vows — in vain would hide 

The truth which I divine, 



A FOOT UPON THP: STEP. 71 

If wedding me would hurt your pride 
Then wooing me hurts mine. 

Oh ! ne'er commit so great a fault, 

Nor wrong the vows you 've made ; 
For what you say is to exalt — 

I feel is to degrade ! — 
To make me yours, whilst life endures, 

Must be at God's own shrine : 
If such a bride would hurt your pride, 

Then such a love hurts mine. 



A FOOT UrON THE STEP. 

A FOOT upon the step, 

And a hand upon the door, 
But I needed courage yet 

To adventure any more ! 
The clouds were roUing fleet, 

And the wind was blowing south : 
'Twas the very hour to meet, — 

But my heart was in my mouth ! 

What power, sweet Love, is thine, 

That thus the heart can take, — • 
That, like a trembhng reed, 

Can make a strong man shake ? 
I pushed the door ajar, 

And gently called her name ; 
And, like an angel star, 

Her gentle presence came ! 



72 JUDGE NOT IN HASTE. 

She blamed me, — yet her blame 

A smile did often show ; 
She said she must be gone, — 

Yet she moved no step to go ! 
She said she loved me well, 

And, — after years had flown, — 
We might have, — who could tell ? — 

A cottage of our own ! 

So I must toil away, 

My honest heart to prove ; 
But labor seemeth play 

When we work for those we love ! 
And sometimes I may smile, 

When I think of days of yore, 
When my heart was in my mouth, 

As I listened at the door I 



JUDGE NOT IN HASTE. 

Ne'er, be hasty in your judgment, — 

Never foremost to extend 
Evil mention of a neighbor. 

Or of one you 've called a friend ! 
Of two reasons for an action 

Choose the better, not the worst ; 
Never let the meaner motive 

Be the one you urge the first ; 
But be gentle with misfortune, 

Never foremost to extend 



THE CHILD AND THE ANGELS. 73 

Evil mention of a neighbor, 

Or of one you 've called a friend ! 

Judge not with detracting spirit, 

Speak not with disdainful tongue ! 
Nor, with hard and hasty feeling*,* 

Do one human creature wrong ! 
Words there are that, sharp as Winter, 

Strip the little left to cheer ; — 
Oh ! be yours the kinder mission. 

Prone to soothe, not cause, a tear ! 
Then be gentle with misfortune ; 

Never foremost to extend 
Evil mention of a neighbor. 

Or of one you 've called a friend ! 



THE CHILD AND THE ANGELS. 

The Sabbath-sun was setting slow. 

Amidst the clouds of even ; 
" Our Father," — breathed a voice below — 

" Father, who art in heaven ! 

Beyond the earth — beyond the cloud — 

Those infant words were given; 
" Our Father," — angels sang aloud — 

" Father, who art in Heaven ! " 

*' Thy kingdom come " — still from the ground, 
That childlike voice did pray ; 



74 LET US TRY. 

" Thy kingdom come " — God's hosts resound 
Far up the stariy way ! 

"Thy will be done," — with little tongue, 

That lisping love implores ; 
" Thy will be done," — the angelic throng — 

Sing from seraphic shores ! 

" For ever," — still those lips repeat, 

Their closing evening prayer ; 
" For ever," — floats in music sweet — 

High 'midst the angels there ! 

Thine be the glory evermore, 

From Thee may man ne'er sever ; 

But every Christian land adore — 
Jehovah ! — God ! — for ever ! 



LET US TRY. 

If we cannot have all that we wish upon earth, 

Let us try to be happy with less if we can ; 
If wealth be not always the guerdon of worth. 

Worth, sooner than Wealth, makes the happier 
man. 
Is it wise to be anxious for pleasures afar — 

And the pleasures around us to slight or decry ? — 
Asking Night for the sun, — asking Day for the 
star ? 

Let us conquer such faults, or at least let us try. 



what's a fair or noble face. 75 

If the soil of a garden be worthy our care, 

Its culture delightful, though ever so small ; 
Oh, then let the Heart the same diligence share, 

And the flowers of affection will rival them all. 
There ne'er was delusion more constantly shown, 

Than that wealth every charm of existence can 
buy; 
As long as love, friendship, and ti'uth are life's own, 

All hearts may be happy, if all hearts ivill try! 



WHAT'S A FAIR OR NOBLE FACE. 
I. 
What 's a fair or noble face. 

If the mind ignoble be ? 
AVhat though Beauty, in each grace, 

May her own resemblance see ! 
Eyes may catch from heaven their spell, 

Lips the ruby's light recall ; 
In the Home for Love to dwell. 

One good feeling 's worth them all. 

II. 

Give me Virtue's rose to trace. 

Honor's kindhng glance and mien ; 
Howsoever plain the face, 

Beauty is where these are seen ! 
Raven ringlets o'er the snow 

Of the whitest neck may fall ; 
In the Home for Love we know 

One n-ood feelino- 's worth them all ! 



THE HUNTING MORN. 



THE HUNTING MORN. 

Up ! up ! it is the hunting morn, 

The woodland rings with mirth, 
The floAvers in dew and hght are born, 

And merry wakes the earth ! 
The deer are trooping down the glen 

To drink the waters clear. 
Up ! up ! again, my greenwood men ! 

To-day we hunt the deer. 

The stag leaps by — away we fly — 

No coward rein hangs back ; 
The baying hounds in chorus high 

Close follow on the track ; 
Whilst Echo, hid from human ken. 

Awakes each hollow near — 
With " up again, my greenwood men ! 

To-day we hunt the deer." 

The tar may boast his winged ship. 

That sports 'mid wave and breeze ; 
JSIy flag and ship are horse and whip, 

And spreading plains my seas ! 
Can tars say when, from Ocean's den, 

Such jovial strains they hear. 
As — " up again, my greenwood men ! 

To-day we hunt the deer." 



SPIRIT OF SONG. 77 



SPIRIT OF SONG. 

Thou speak'st of stars, like lovers' eyes, 
That tremble with excess of light ; 

Tell us, what star of all the skies 
Can set an honest purpose right ? 

What planet aid an upright mind ; 

And thou 'It do something for mankind. 

Thou speak'st of magic tides that flow 
Just as the moon is curved or round; 

Tell us what tide of earth can show 
Where simple Justice may be found ? 

The tide that leaves not Truth behind, 

And thou 'It do something for mankind. 

What fount will keep affection true, 
What spell will rivet friendship fast, 

What flower will blighted faith renew, 
And keep hope blooming to the last ? 

Oh ! teach the heart but these to find. 

And prove an angel to mankind. 



78 I WOOED THEE. 



I WOOED THEE. 



I WOOED thee, I wooed thee, my love, 

For charms more endearing than speak 
In thy soft beaming eye — like the dove — 

Or the exquisite grace of thy cheek. 
For a heart by each feeling refined. 

And pure as a seraph's above ; 
For the beauty and grace of thy mind, 

I wooed thee, I wooed thee, my love. 



When the spring-tide of beauty is o'er. 

And the grace of thy young cheek decayed, 
The Mind will a new spring restore, 

Whose loveliness never. may fade ! 
For there the true fountain is given. 

Life's charm and enchantment to prove ; 
Not only for Earthy — but for Heaven^ — 

1 wooed thee, I wooed thee, my love. 



THE ANGEL'S CALL. 

To the green grave ncAvly made, 

Sisters come ! 
To the churchyard where she 's laid. 

Sisters come ! 



I WOOED THEE. 79 

AVlien the nintli day downward dips 
Will the spirit leave lier lips ; 

Bear her home ! 
Earth and shroud may then be spared, 
Angels have her house prepared, 

Bear her home ! 

She was lovelier than the morn. 

Sisters come ! 
Purer than a flower new born. 

Sisters come ! 
All who saw her ne'er could part 
Till her image filled her heart. 

Bear her home ! 
Never death kissed maiden's eyes 
Fitter for Our Father's skies, 

Bear her home ! 

There is grief with her to part. 

Sisters come ! 
Anguish in the father's heart, 

Sisters come ! 
Teach the mourner's faith to rise 
To that mansion in the skies, 

Where she 's gone ; 
Teach the father's lips to say, 
'Mid the tears that must have way, 

Thy will be done ! 



80 THE MEADOW GATE. 



THE MEADOW GATE. 

The bluebell peeps beneath the fern, 

The moor its purple blossom yields, 
'Tis worth full six days' work to earn 

A ramble 'mid the woods and fields : , 
There is an hour to silence dear, 

An hour for which a king might wait ; 
It is to meet when no one 's near, 

My Mary by the meadow gate. 

When love inspires the linnet's breast. 

How swift he speeds from spray to spray ; 
His song is of his woodland nest, 

Far hidden from the peep of day. 
Would such a nest were my sweet lot, 

Would I might be some dear one's mate ; 
I'd ask, to share my lowly cot, 

My Mary by the meadow gate. 

There is a tide the streamlet seeks, 

A full mile from its course it veers, 
And into silvery music breaks. 

When from the vale the sea appears. 
Oh ! twenty miles my eager feet 

Would wander long and linger late, 
The happy moment but to meet 

My JNIary by the garden gate. 



OLD FRIENDS AND OLD TIMES. 81 



OLD FRIENDS AND OLD TIMES. 

Thinking of old times, 

Hopes ne'er to be ; 
Speaking of old friends 

Far o'er the sea : 
Distance can change' not 

Dear ones like you ; 
Fortune estrange not 

Hearts that are true ! — 
Thus, in the twilight, 

Fond thoughts will stray- 
Back to the old homes — 

Homes far away ! 

Oh ! 'mid the old friends 

I no more see. 
Is there a kind thought 

Ever for me ? 
If there 's but one hope. 

One wish, though vain, — 
If there 's but one sigh 

I '11 not complain. 
Thus in the twilight 

Tears oft will stray. 
Thinking of old friends, — 

Friends far away ! 
6 



82 A WORD OF THINE. 



A AYORD OF THINE. 

A WORD of thine — how hath it dwelt 

Like music in my heart ; 
A look — how oft my soul hath knelt 

And worshipped it, apart : 
My spirit like a mirror seems, 

That still, where'er I be. 
In happy thoughts, or happier dreams, 

Reflects but only thee, 
My love. 

Reflects but only thee ! 

I marvel what my hfe had been 

If thee I ne'er had known ? — 
Thy form, thy beauty, ne'er seen ; 

Nor heard thy lips' dear tone : 
It seems as if my heart were born 

Thy shrine alone to be ; 
For every pulse from eve to morn 

Still beats for only thee, 
My love, 

Still beats for only thee. 



THE OLD EVENINGS. 



THE OLD EVENINGS. 

I WANDERED by the old house, 

But others now live there, 
I thought about the old times. 

And all we used to share. 
How happy 't was our wont to meet, 

When friends came frank and free ; 
Ah, when shall we such faces greet 

As once we used to see 
In those old merry evenings — 
Those pleasant, friendly evenings. 

Beneath the old roof tree ! 

But what though we 'd the old house. 

We still should lack old cheer ; 
The old friends in the old house 

Were all that made it dear ! 
And these are fled, or changed, or dead. 

And never more may we 
Revive the music of their tread — 

The joys that used to be 
In those sweet friendly evenings. 
Those long-departed evenings, 

Beneath the old roof tree ! 



84 I KNEW MY LOT WAS LABOR. 



I KNEW MY LOT WAS LABOR. 

I KNEW my lot was labor, 

I knew my joys were few ; 
But Monday morn was welcome 

Wliate'er the work to do ! — 
My heart was light and cheery ; 

The day sped swiftly o'er ; 
But now my work is dreary — 

For Mary is no more ! 

I asked no gift from fortune, 

Nor envied king nor peer ; 
For there were walks with Mary, 

When Saturday drew near ! — 
But now the days drag slowly, 

And labor seemeth sore ; 
For she who made life holy. 

Sweet Mary is no more ! 

The Sabbath is not Sabbath, 

The hymns seem not the same ; 
And lonely in the churchyard 

I read my Mary's name. 
Ah, once the earth had gladness. 

And work sped swiftly o'er ; 
But now all work is sadness. 

For INIary is no more ! 



WATCHING AND WEEPING. 85 



WATCHING AND WEEPING. 

Ever weeping at the casement, — 
Ever lookino;, leanino- out ; 

While the village, in amazement, 
AVonder v\^hat this grief 's about ! 

With the morn-light, gray and dreary- 
Long e'er waketh bird or bee, 

Mary stands, with spirit weary. 
Gazing out upon the sea : — 

There until the west sun gioweth, 
Lists she to each breeze that blows ; 

But the wind, though much it knoweth, 
Telleth no one what it knows, — 

No one — no one — what it knows. 

On a coast forlorn, forsaken. 

Dug by hard and hasty hands, 
Near a low cross, rudely shapen, 

Rests a grave upon the sands ! 
Never wing of bird comes near it, 

Nothing but the billows' roar; 
And a voice, — the night stars hear it, — 

Sighing, " Mary, never more ! " 
Still, until the west sun gioweth, 

Mary lists each breeze that blows ; 
But the wind, though much it knoweth, 

Telleth no one what it knows ! 

No one — no one — what it knows. 



86 WHAT 'S YOUR OPINION. 



WHAT'S YOUR OPINION. 

'Tis my belief, that if you show 
Your heart to any one you know, 
Or let your cheeks with blushes glow, 

You shorten Love's dominion : 
But if you pause, or seem to be 
Indifferent to his urgent plea ; 
The colder you — the warmer he : 

Now tell me your opinion. 
Your opinion ; 

Do tell me your opinion. 

'T is hard, when feeling's pulse beats strong, 
To guard the word that seeks the tongue, 
And hide the secret well — and long : 

But who would lose dominion ? 
Who let a Kttle word defeat 
The hopes that in their bosom beat ? 
Whate'er I felt — he should not see 't ! — 

At least that 's my opinion ! 
My opinion ; 

At least that 's my opinion ! 

'T is said that some are far too nice. 
Too over proud to take advice ; — 
I only pray you to think twice 

Before you quit dominion : 
The more your looks, your lips, express, 



BE SURE YOU CALL. 87 

The more you sigh, he 'il sigh the less ; — 
Till he proposed 1 'd ne'er confess ! 

At least that's my opinion, 
My opinion ; 

At least that 's my opinion ! 



BE SURE YOU CALL. 

It was a rustic cottage gate, 

And over it a maiden leant. 
Upon her face and youthful grace 

A lover's earnest eyes were bent : — 
" Good-night," she said, " once more, good-night, 

The evening star is rising high ; — 
But early with the morning light 

Be sure you call as you pass by, 
As you pass by, 

Be sure you call as you pass by." 

The spring had into summer leapt, 

Brown autumn's hand her treasures threw. 
When forth a merry party swept. 

In bridal garments, two by two : — 
I saw it was the maid that blessed 

The evening star that rose so high : — 
For he, as I suppose you've guessed. 

Had often called as he passed by. 
As he passed by, 

Had often called as he passed by. 



88 A HEART FOR EVERY ONE. 

Oh, blissful lot, where all 's forgot, 

Save love, that wreathes the heart with flowers ; 
Oh, what 's a throne to that dear cot 

Whose only wealth is happy hours ! 
I know to leave their home they 're loth, 

Although the evening star be nigh ; 
But if you wish to see them both, 

Perchance they '11 call as they pass by, 
As they pass by. 

Perchance they '11 call as they pass by. 



A HEART FOR EVERY ONE. 

On ! there 's a heart for every one, 

If every one could find it ; 
Then up and seek, ere youth is gone, 

Whate'er the toil, ne'er mind it ! — 
For if you chance to meet at last 

With that one heart, intended 
To be a blessing unsurpassed. 

Till life itself is ended. 
How would you prize the labor done. 

How grieve if you 'd resigned it ; 
For there 's a heart for every one, 

If every one could find it ! 

Two hearts are made, the angels say. 

To suit each other dearly ; 
But each one takes a different way, — 

A way not found so cleai-ly ! 



thp: magic glass. 89 

Yet tliougli we seek, and seek for years, 

The pains is worth the taking ; 
For what the life of home endears 

Like hearts of angel's making ? 
Then haste, and guard the treasure now, 

When fondly you 've enshrined it ; 
For there's a heart for every one, 

If every one could find it ! 



THE MAGIC GLASS. 

Hither maidens, merry maidens ! 

Come and view my magic glass ; 
I can tell you many marvels, 

All things as they 're sure to pass ! 
I can see adventure growing. 

Through' a mystic power sublime ; 
Watch the hand of fortune throwing 

Treasures in the hand of Time ! — 
Come then, maidens, merry maidens. 

Come and see my magic glass ; 
All the wonders I shall whisper, 

True as time, are sure to pass ! 

Time, that like a seed appeareth, 
Dry and dark and hard to view ; 

I can show you how it reareth — 
Leaf, and bud, and flow'ret too ! 

Leaf of friendship, co}ly hidden ; 
Flower of love, that shuns the sight ; 



90 BETTER THAN BEAUTY. 

Things to other eyes forbidden, 
Unto mine are clear as light ! 

Come then, maidens, merry maidens ! 
Come and view my magic glass ; 

All the wonders I shall whisper, 
True as time, are sure to pass ! 

Like a stage I see the future ; — 

Signs and symbols o'er it crowd, 
Wild as wintry stars at midnight, 

And they speak to me aloud : 
Tell me secrets worth believing, 

Secrets with instruction rife — 
What the loom of fate is weaving 

From the mingled threads of life ! 
Come then, maidens, merry maidens, 

Come and view my magic glass. 
All the wonders I shall whisper, 

Sure as time, will come to pass ! 



BETTER THAN BEAUTY. 

My love is not a beauty 

To other eyes than mine ; 
Her curls are not the fairest. 

Her eyes are not divine : 
Nor yet like rose-buds parted, 

Her lips of love may be ; 
But though she 's not a beauty, 

She's dear as one to me. 



THE COTTAGE WINDOW. 91 

Her neck is far fi-om swan-like, 

Her bosom unlike snow ; 
Nor walks she like a deity 

This breathing world below : 
Yet there 's a light of happiness 

Within, which all may see ; 
And though she 's not a beauty, 

She 's dear as one to me. 

I would not give the kindness, 

The grace, that dwells in Aer, 
For all that Cupid's blindness 

In others might prefer ! 
I would not change her sweetness 

For pearls of any sea ; 
For better far than beauty 

Is one kind heart to me. 



THE COTTAGE WINDOW. 

Sitting at the cottage window 

Gazing on the myrtle bloom. 
Whilst the summer daylight dying 

Mantles hill and vale with gloom 
Colder falls the starry evening, 

Darker grows the narrow room ; 
Still she lingers at the casement 

Gazing on the myrtle bloom. 



9? SPEAK NO ILL. 

Sudden, like a rose she blushes, 

Angel light is in her glance, 
Neck, and brow, and bosom, flushes, 

Asa step doth quick advance : 
Sudden, pale as any moonhght 

Falling on a wintry shore, 
Fadeth cheek, and brow, and bosom. 

As that step is heard no more ! 

" Never love nor hope," she sayeth, 

" If a breaking heart ye fear ; 
" Every blush of love betrayeth — 

" Every breath of hope 's a tear ! " 
Thus, unto herself, she moaneth, 

List'ning 'mid the deep'ning gloom ; 
Sitting at the cottage casement, 

Weeping o'er the myrtle bloom. 



SPEAK NO ILL. 

Nay, speak no ill ! — a kindly word 

Can never leave a sting behind. 
And, oh ! to breathe each tale we 've heard 

Is far beneath a noble mind. 
Full oft a better seed is sown 

By choosing thus the kinder plan ; 
For if but little good be known, 

Still let us speak the best we can. 



NEAR THEE. 93 

Give me the heart that fain would hide — 

Would fain another's fault efface ; 
How can it pleasure human pride 

To prove humanity but base ? 
'No : let us reach a higher mood, 

A nobler estimate of man ; 
Be earnest in the search of good, 

And speak of all the best we can. 

Then speak no ill — but lenient be 

To others' failings as your own ; 
K you 're the first a fault to see. 

Be not the first to make it known. 
For life is but a passing day, 

No lip may tell how brief its span ; 
Then, oh, the little time we stay. 

Let 's speak of all the best we can ! 



NEAR THEE. 

I WOULD be with thee — near thee, ever near 
thee — 

Watching thee ever, as the angels are — 
Still seeking with my spirit-power to cheer thee. 

And thou to see me, but as some bright star. 
Knowing me not, but yet oft-times perceiving 

That when thou gazest I still brighter grow. 
Beaming and trembling — like some bosom heaving 

With all it knows, yet would not have thee know. 



94 A SKETCH. 

I would be with thee — fond, yet silent ever, 

Nor break the spell in which my soul is bound ; 
Mirrored within thee as within a river : 

A flower upon thy breast and thou the ground ! 
That, when I died and unto earth returned, 

Our natures never more might parted be ; 
Within thy being all my own inurned — 

Life, bloom, and beauty, all absorbed in thee ! 



A SKETCH. 

A MAIDEN in the moonlight 

Was sitting all alone ; 
The shadow of the rose-trees 

Across the green bank thrown : 
And, graceful as a lover. 

The quiet moon had placed 
A beam, just like a fond arm. 

Around her beauteous waist. 

Sometimes with silver finger 

It touched her raven hair ; 
Sometimes it sought her bosom. 

As if its heaven were there : 
Or glanced from cheek to forehead. 

Or mouth and chin caressed ; 
Or silent sank beside her. 

And kissed the ground she pressed. 



OH ! ASK NOT IF I LOVE THEE WELL. 95 

Some wish tliey were a fairy, 

But no such wish have I ; 
I 'd rather be the moonbeam 

My heart's-beloved one nigh ! 
To chase away the darkness, 

To dwell within her sight, 
And, whilst I livedo to make the world 

To her a world of light I 



OH! ASK NOT IF I LOVE THEE WELL. 

Oh ! ask not if I love thee well, 

For thou dost surely know. 
It suits not maiden's lips to tell 

They love — though it were so ! 
Thou with thine own wild doubts must cope ; 

I dare not say thou 'rt prized ! — 
Nor must I even bid thee hope, — 

For Hope is Love disguised ! 

For there are those who oft will slight. 

And many that will scorn ; 
And love that seems so warm at night, 

May die of cold e'er morn ! 
Yet, if thou lov'st to sing to me. 

Beside our village spring ; 
Go, take thy young lute from the tree — ^ 

And I will hear thee sins: ! 



96 FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

Perchance I should not list those chords. 

And this, too, may be wrong : 
Yet surely if there 's harm in words — 

There is no harm in song ! 
And I will hear thee, as of yore, 

Sing like a forest dove; 
If thou wilt promise never more 

To ask me if I love. 



FORGIVE AND FORGET. 



Forgive and Forget ! why the world would be 
lonely, 

The garden a wilderness left to deform ; 
If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds 
only, [storm ! 

And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the 
Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the flower, 

Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten life's way; 
And prolong not again the brief cloud of an hour, 

With tears that but darken the rest of the day ! 

II. 

Forgive and Forget ! there 's no breast so unfeeling 
But some gentle thoughts of aifection there live ; 

And the best of us all require something concealing, 
Some heart that with smiles can forget and for- 
give ! 



A PALE, PALE CHEEK. 97 

Then away witli tlie cloud from those beautiful eyes, 
That brow was no home for such frowns to have 
met : 

Oh, how could our spirits e'er hope for the skies, 
If Heaven refused to Forgive and Forget. 



A PALE, PALE CHEEK. 

A PALE, pale cheek my love but shows, 

But when afiection warms its hue, 
Or when with friendship's light it glows, 

A sweeter cheek Love never knew : 
A faint, low voice, my love but owns — 

A voice that trembles, hke a tear ; 
But when 'tis tuned to pity's tones, 

'Tis angel soft — 't is heavenly dear ! 

Like stars that o'er the azure pause 

Ere stepping on the path of night, 
Her eyes look down, till Friendship's cause 

Uplifts them with a beaming light ; 
So beauty from affection springs. 

So goodness lends an added grace, 
There is no bloom that Nature brings 

Can more adorn a w^oman's face. 



HATH THE WORLD. 

Hath the world so much perfection t 
Find ye friends as soon as sought ? 



98 love's trials. 

That ye cast away affection 
As it were a thing of nought? 

Is the world so full of kindness, 
Hath it so much love to spare, 

That ye still, with more than blindness, 
Lose your friends without a care ? 



Trusting still, whate'er befall, 
Better to be too confiding. 

Than confide in none at all ! 
Better that the heart should sorrow 

Over friendship to the end, 
Than that we should live a morrow, 

E'en an hour, without a friend ! 



LOVE'S TRIALS. 

I CANNOT mind my wheel, mother, 

I cannot mind my wheel ; 
You know not what my heart must know 

You feel not what I feel : 
My thread is idly cast, mother, 

My thought is o'er the sea ; 
My hopes are falling fast, mother, 

Yet feel you not for me ! 

I had a dreadful dream, inother, 

'T was of a ship at sea ; 
J saw a form amidst the storm — 

I heard him call on me. 



A CONTRAST. 99 

I heard him call on me, mother, 

As plain as now I speak ; 
I thought my brain would burst, mother, 

I thought my heart would break. 

For me he perils life, mother, 

The weary ocean wide ; 
And yet a word from you, mother, 

Had kept him by my side : 
My wheel had gaily sped, mother, 

My thoughts at home smiled free ; 
But now my smiles have fled, mother, 

My heart is o'er the sea ! 



A CONTRAST. 

As quiet as a star at eve. 

With little to attract about her ; 

Yet she 's the one all hearts receive — 
And home is scarcely home without her. 

To every living creature kind, 
Her patient spnpathy revealing ; 

But she leaves those she loves to find 
Her hidden worth — her deeper feeling. 

So unassuming day by day, 

So calm — retiring — still we found her ; 
We knew not till she passed away. 

How mue-h she filled the circle round her. 



100 



The last to own or feel annoy — 

The first to pleasure those about her ; 

Her presence brought a nameless joy, 

And home 's no longer home without her .' 



LIFE 



Life's not our own — 'tis but a loan — 

To be repaid ; 
Soon the dark Comer's at the door, 
The debt is due — the dream is o'er — 

Life 's but a shade. 

Thus all decline — that bloom or shine — 

Both star and flower ; 
'T is but a little odor shed — 
A light gone out — a spirit fled — 
A funeral hour ! 

Then let us show a tranquil brow 

Whate'er befalls ; 
That we upon life's latest brink 
May look on Death's dark face — and think 
An anoel calls ! 



THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 101 



THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 

I LOVE the lilies of the field 

Whose grace adorns my way, 
For they remind me of a form 

More beautiful than they ! 
I love the wild rose, bending meek, 

At summer evening's close ; — 
But there is yet a fonder cheek, 

Where blooms a richer rose ! 

I love the hour when shadows sleep, 

When twilight walks the dew, 
But, oh ! there is an eye more deep ; 

Yet soft as twilight's too : 
I love to watch Night's starry brow. 

Above the darkness shine, 
'T is heavenly sweet, as one I know, 

Whose love makes life divine ! 



OPEN HEARTED. 

If you wish to be happy at home. 

Then your heart to that wish is the door- 

Keep it open — and angels may come. 
And enter, and dwell evermore ! 



102 THE ROSE THOU GAV'ST. 

O'er eacli feeling a ray will be cast, 

As if lit by some magical gem ; 
You will think you 've found Heaven at last, 

But the angels have brought it with them. 

Keep it open — and friendship and love 

And happiness — all — will be thine : 
A gleam of Elysium above ! 

A spark of the spirit divine ! 
Keep it shut — and then Pride will have birth. 

And Envy — and all we condemn ; 
You will think you've perdition on earth, 

Pride and Envy have brought it with them. 

The world will seem colder each day ; 

'Tis an image those demons but throw. 
Cast your pride and your envy away — 

And the world's seeming coldness will go. 
Oh ! 'tis well to be happy at home, 

And to tills your own heart is the door ; 
Keep it open and angels may come 

And enter, and dwell evermore. 



THE EOSE THOU GAV'ST. 

The rose thou gav'st at parting — 
Hast thou forgot the hour ? 

The moon was on the river — 
The dew upon the flower : 

Thy voice was full of tenderness — 
But, ah ! thy voice misleads ; 



103 



The rose is like thy promises — 
Its thorn is like thy deeds. 

The winter cometh bleakly — 

And dark the time must be ; 
But I can deem it summer 

To what thou 'st proved to me ! 
The snow that meets the sunlight 

Soon hastens from the scene ; 
But melting snow is lasting, 

To what thy faith hath been ! 



CARES. 

Cares, Cares, — who is without them ? 

Troubles are plenty wherever we stray — 
Pass round the glass and think nothing about them, 

The more you make of them the longer they stay. 

Tears, Tears, — who has not met them ? 

Sorrow 's the dew of life's morning and night ; 
Pass round the goblet and try to forget them, 

Speak of the bloom, but ne'er mention the blight. 

Life — life, — who would desire it ? 

Who for its pleasures would suffer its pains ? 
Pass round the glass, for our spirits require it ; 

Hide with life's roses the weight of life's chains. 



104 TO THE WORLDLING. 



TO THE WORLDLING. 

If wltli grief a friend be shaken, 

If misfortune hover near, 
If by ruin overtaken, 

Solace not his heart — but sneer ! 
Say you always thought his spending 

Would involve him, soon or late ; 
You expected such an ending — 

Show no pity for his fate ; 
Taunt him with the Past — and jeer, 
Wonder at his ways — and sneer ! 

True, perchance, ere Fortune's blindness 

Wronged his warm and generous breast. 
You oft shared liis deepest kindness, 

Drank his bumpers, hke the rest. 
Quaffed his health in empty speeches, 

Made of tinsel words a show ; — 
Oh ! the bitter moral reaches 

Every honest heart below. 
I could spurn thee, Ingrate, here — 
With thy wisdom — and thy sneer ! 



TWO LOVERS. 105 



TWO LOYERS. 



Two lovers had I when a maiden, 

One dark as a gipsy and tall, 
The other much slighter and fairer — 

Which some might the handsomer call : 
The last one, Avhene'er he departed, 

Ne'er turned when he wished me good-by ; 
The other looked back when he left me — 

And sweet was the glance of his eye. 

Raven-black were the curls on his forehead, 

And proud w^as his bearing, yet gay ; 
Oh ! the light that made heaven seem darkness, 

Was the light he bore with him away ; 
Two hearts and two faces as varied. 

Perchance as a maiden might see ; 
But the heart that looked back when it left me. 

Is the heart that seems fondest to me. 



A PORTRAIT. 

Her smiles are like those flowers that die, 
When in a daily room confined ; 

She 's one that for the air doth sigh. 
And loves to leave her home beliind: 

She curtseys low to gaudy pelf, 

A fortune 's what she 's looking hard for, 



106 THE SAILOR. 

It is the next thing to herself . ^ 

She has the highest — best regard for ! ,7 

Her words are many — but their worth 

Is httle — she but speaks for show ; 
And she's the tenderest heart on earth 

For all things touching self below ! — 
A constant effort to assume 

A tone, and style, that makes you weary ; 
A flower that must have sun to bloom — 

And pines at home — for home 's so dreary. 



THE SAILOR. 

When Tom left the Village so loved was his name, 
So manly his form, and so honest his fame, 
So worthy his heart, that though longing to roam, 
'Till his poor mother died he stuck true to his home ; 
While she needed him,, no temptation could move 
His hand from his duty — his heart from her love — 
Though he longed for the life of a Sailor. 

But when the last sun-ray had set o'er her grave, 
Tom left the old village to sail the broad wave ; 
His purse was but light, for as long as a friend 
Asked assistance from Tom, it was his to the end : 
And a nobler, a better, a braver than he 
Never sailed on the breast of the billowy sea, 
Nor followed the life of a Sailor. 



FROM tup: OKIKL WIJS'DOW. 107 

But time hastened on, and four years slipped away, 
When late in the spring, just at close of the day, 
Our Sailor came home, but we saw with a sigh 
That poor Tom had returned to the village to die ; 
Still he spoke with a smile of the perils he'd passed, 
And his heart's dying beat was still brave to the 
last, 
And we buried, with tears, our poor Sailor. 

But again — ere a month past — that grave was un- 
closed. 

And the Rose of the Village within it reposed ; 

Since the hour Tom returned, she had altered each 
day. 

As he faded — she withered — and sorrowed away ; 

And her last breath implored, as it fluttered and 
died, [side. 

That in peace she might rest, like a bride, by his 
And her heart be in death with her Sailor. 



FROM THE ORIEL WINDOW. 

From the oriel window 

Of the gothic tower. 
Lists a beauteous maiden, 
• Through the "uantry hour ; 
List'ning — ever list'nin<]j — 

For a step below : 
Softly in the moonhght 

Falls the silvery snow, 



108 there's a charm. 

With a floating wliisper, 
Musical and low, 

Softly in the moonlight 
Falls the silvery snow ! 

Never more, sweet maiden, 

Never more, for thee. 
Shall the form thou lovest, 

'Neath thy casement be : 
Lowly lies thy true knight 

On the battle plain. 
Shrouded by the moonlight, 

Ne'er to rise again ! 
With a wailing whisper 

O'er his cold, cold brow, 
Mournful in the moonhght 

Falls the silvery snow ! 



THERE'S A CHARM. 

There 's a charm too often wanted. 

There 's a power not understood ; — 
Seeds spring upward as they 're planted, 

Or for evil, or for good ! 
We forget that charm beguiling — 

Which the voice of sorrow drowns — 
Smiles can oft elicit smiling ! 

Frowning can engender frowns ! 

There's a temper quick in sowing 
Care, and grief, and discontent ; 



what's the use of existence. 109 

Ever first and last in showing 

More in words than lanouao;c meant : 

Ever restless in its nature 
Until sorrows set their seal 

On each pale and fretful feature, 
And the hidden depth reveal. 



If a frown produce a ft-own, 
If our hp — the truth defiling — 

Can the rose of life cast down : 
Let us learn, ere grief hath bound us, 

Useless anger to forego : 
And bring smiles, like flowers, around us, 

From which other smiles may grow. 



WHAT'S THE USE OF EXISTENCE. 

What's the use of existence unless we enjoy it? 
Though the sunlight of gladness but beam for a 
few, 
Because it's so rare must we therefore destroy it — 
And refuse an hour's pleasure because it's not 
two ! 
What's the use of a heart if it hold not affection ? 

What's fortune, — unless to distribute relief? 
What 's the use of a mind ? — surely not for dejec- 
tion ; 
'Tis a power that should spring still immortal o'er 
orief 



110 TO HIM WHO FOR SIX DAYS. 

What 's the use of regretting that life is no longer ? 
That age comes too soon — or that youth goes too 
fest ? 
If we fret for a week it will make us no younger, 

The pleasures of earth are not pleasures to last ! 
What's the use of existence unless we enjoy it? 
Though the sunlight of gladness but beam for a 
few, 
Because it 's so rare must we therefore destroy it, 
And refuse an hour's pleasure because it's not 
hoo! 



TO HIM WHO FOR SIX DAYS. 

To him who for six days a week 

Can rarely call an hour his own, 
How sweet to watch the Sabbath break, 

And bless the light that Heaven hath thrown. 
Oh ! welcome, more than tongue can name. 

The dearest morn that greets our soil, 
Is that the Sabbath bells proclaim, 

Which shuts the busy world of toil. 

From morn to eve — from morn to eve — 

Still wakening but for work alone ; 
Oh ! heaven, it is a blest reprieve 

To have one day to call our own : 
One day to breathe a wider span. 

Unfettered by the bonds of trade. 
To leave the plodding world of man, 

And view the world which God hath made. 



THE SEXTON. Ill 



THE SEXTON. 



The spade shook in his trembhng hand, 

His hair was white with years ; 
And deep within the burial sand, 

Fast fell the Sexton's tears : 
Why weep'st thou — man of many graves ■ 

Why sink'st thou thus with care ; 
Earth loses, but still Heaven saves, 

There is a world elsewhere. 

This morning when I rose, he said. 

And saw the churchyard drear ; 
And thought of him, my son, that dead 

Lay in his chamber near ; 
Methought I 'd ask some other hand 

To make his grave for me ; 
It scarcely seemed that I could stand — 

Or I the earth could see ! 



THE ANGEL OF THE STORM. 

The Angel rose — and from her wing 
Shook tempest o'er the heaving tide : 

I marked the sea convulsive fling 
Its stormy billows wild and wide ; 

Complaining all the weary day. 

Till came the stars, with peace and rest ; 



112 BRAVE HEARTS. 

Then calmness, like a blessing, lay, 

With heaven's own image, on its breast 1 

Oh ! thus, amidst the clouds of care, 

When tempests o'er our pathway roll — 
Wlien doubts and fears, like billows, tear 

And 'whelm the sad and sinking soul — 
As sets the sun of life, may light, 

Calm in the faith of ages, shine ! 
And may our spirit, in thy sight, 

Reflect, O God, thy grace divine ! 



BRAVE HEARTS. 

Brave hearts bend not so soon to care — 

Firm minds uplift the load of fate ; 
They bear what others shrink to bear. 

And boldly any doom await ! 
They rise above what would oppress 

A weaker spirit to the ground ; 
And, though they feel no jot the less, 

Their sorrows scorn to breathe a sound. 

Oh ! heroes have we still on earth, 

AVorth all the boasted blood of Rome ; 
And heroines, whose suffering worth 

Lends grace to many a humble home. 
Great hearts endurance cannot bend ; 

Nor daily care, nor trial, tame ; 
But these nor ask, nor gain, a friend — 

Nor seek, nor ever find, a name ! 



ABSENT FRIENDS. 11 



ABSENT FJRIENDS. 



Why tlie sands of old Time seem all golden to-day, 

There is joy in the glass which good feeling 

commends, 

And the heart seems inspired with some holier ray, 

As we quaff the red wine to our dear absent 

Friends. 

Oh ! a pleasure when shared is more truly enjoyed. 
And there is not a pleasure which Providence 
sends, 

So sweet as when moments like these are employed, 
In pledging the goblet to all absent Friends. 

May good fortune go with them wherever they 
tread, 
May He bless them, on whom every blessing de- 
pends, [said. 
With a cup to the brim, oh ! what more may be 
Than a health and success unto all absent Friends. 



LOVE THEE? 

Love thee ? thou art my joy, my song. 
My music through the day ; 

Thou never leav'st my lips for long 
Whate'er I do, or say ! 



114 woman's will. 

In every stream I liear thee, love, 

In every fountain fall ; 
The scenes around, the stars above, 

Thou liv'st, and mov'st, in all ! 

To all thou hast a brightness given 

That meets me on my way ; 
The light of morn seems light of heaven, 

And not the light of day ! 
The earth from thee its beauty caught. 

As all who gaze may see ; 
Love thee ? all Nature, as it ought, 

Loves thee, my own, loves thee ! 



WOMAN'S WILL. 

The moon will have its waning hour. 

The dim stars set in gloom ; 
The buried seed will spring to flawer — 

The leafless branch may bloom : 
And each its own allotted task. 

In season due fulfil ; 
But ne'er, in any season, ask 

Woman to change her will. 
My boys. 
Dear woman to change her will ! 

First seek to turn the wan moon round, 
Whose crescent sails the skies ; 

Or talk the seed from out the ground, 
Before 't is time to rise : 



WHERE PARTING IS NO MORE. 115 

Expect to change the falling dew 

To diamonds by your skill, 
But ne'er expect, whate'er ye do, 

Woman to change her will, 
My boys, 
Sweet woman to chano;e her will. 



"WHERE PARTING IS NO MORE.' 

Parting never more ? 

Tell me, ye in Heaven, 
Is perpetual rest 

To your nature given ? 
Is your holy mission 

Still eternal love ? 
Then there 's work for angels 

In that world above ! 

When the soul hath parted, 

Freer yet to soar 
'Midst the angel-hearted. 

Shall it strive no more ? 
Is it not extending 

Love's celestial aim ? 
High, as it 's ascending, 

Hiirher is God's claim. 



116 IF THOU COULD'ST TEACH. 



IF THOU COULD'ST TEACH. 

If thou could'st teach me to forget, 

An art so dull I would not learn, 
No, there 's a charm in memory yet, 

Which colder natures ne'er discern : 
Though dark my onward path appears, 

That inner charm each step beguiles. 
And sweeter Memory's face in tears, 

Than cold forgetfulness in smiles. 

I sit and list the voices gone, 

The music of affection lost. 
And would not shun, nor part with one 

Of all the tears, those voices cost : 
I sit and think of other years. 

And wander Time's neglected aisles ; 
And sweeter Memory's face in tears 

Than cold fororetfulness in smiles. 



MANY HOPE THAT THE HEART. 

Many hope that the heart may outgrow 
The folly that leads it astray ; 

Till to-morrow arrives but to show 
The heart just as weak as to-day: 

Still careless Avhat ill may ensue 
By quitting the pathway of sense. 



THE wife's KICHES. 117 

Still leaving to-morrow to do 
AVTiat to-morrow will never commence. 

Repentance still losing its aim, 

Forgotten in profitless tears, 
While experience but finds us the same 

In every thing else but in years. 
AVhat 's counsel — when counsel comes vain ? 

'T is adding but fuel to fire ; 
Oh ! knowledge is easy to gain — 

But wisdom is hard to acquire ! 



THE WIFE'S RICHES. 

And what have ye for wife to share. 

And how should she be drest — 
A silken gown for sabbath wear, 

And bonnet of the best ? 
Nor silken gown, nor glove she '11 get — 

Nor lace, nor riband dear, 
So if on these your mind be set, 

I need not tarry here. 

And where might the poor maiden dwell 

Whom ye to church had shown '? 
I never yet of roof heard tell, 

That ye could call your own. 
Oh ! little can my love impart. 

For small indeed 's my cot ; 
My wife must e'en dwell in my heart, 

Till we find richer lot. 



118 DARKNESS UPON THE SEA. 

No richer lot would I possess — 

No better home obtain — 
The wife this little would not bless, 

With riches would con'plain : 
So — if ye love me, as you say — 

Why then your love shall earn 
A grateful wife — whichever way 

The tide of fortune turn. 



DARKNESS UPON THE SEA. 

Darkness upon the sea, 

Wildly the billow rolls ; 
Star of Eternity, 

Shine thou upon our souls : 
We from our homes are far — 

Perils surround our way, 
Shine thou eternjil star — 

Save us, we pray ! 

Dear is our distant land, 

Home and its hopes divine ; 
Send thine almighty hand — 

Star of life, shine ! 
Thou, that canst calm the sea, 

Wild as the billows rave ; 
Star of Eternity, 

Light thou, — and save ! 



oh! first time came. 119 



OH! FIRST TIME CAME. 

Oh ! first Time came in cnmson shoes — 

With little roses blue and yellow, 
He came with playthings, to amuse, 

And I was then a happy fellow : 
In dancing soles he next skipped by, 

AVith song and music, sweet and sprightly, 
While Love's eyes o'er Time's shoulder nigh, 

Smiled forth, like stars of heaven, nightly. 

Again Time called in boots and spurs, 

And rode as if his days were numbered ; 
The next in slippers, lined with furs. 

In elbow-chair he sat and slumbered : 
I heard the distant music play, 

I thought of hours of love and dancing, 
But Time grew slower, day by day, 

As if with hearse and plume advancing. 

Ah me ! but once sweet Childhood comes. 

But once bright Youth to love may guide us, 
Time, year to year, like lightning sums, 

And age and darkness stand beside us: 
Ah well! old Time, life's but a day — 

"With some few gleams our path adorning ; 
The night will come, whate'er we say — 

It cannot always, Time, be morning. 



120 WHAT NEED OF WORDS. 



WHAT NEED OF WORDS. 

What need of words when lovers meet ? 
What need of sighs and glances sweet ? 
As long as faithful hearts can beat, 

So long — so well — I '11 love thee ; 
Though other eyes may glance around, 
The chord by which the heart is bound 
No prying eye as yet hath found — • 

None know how much I love thee. 

Why should I speak, or thou reply ? 
I ask not words when thou art nigh ; 
Oh ! more than life, or earth, or sky, 

I dearly, dearly love thee ; 
Thou need'st not speak — my heart appears, 
As it had eyes, and tongue, and ears ; 
And, like the music of the spheres, 
I hear it say — " thou lov'st yne ! " 



EVER COMPLAINING. 

Ever complaining. 
Nothing is right : 

Daylight is dreary — 
Wearisome night : 

Ever rejecting, 
Quick to destroy, 



JUST BEFORE THE HAY WAS MOWN. 121 

The Httle that's left 
For our life to enjoy ! 

Shame on the nature 

Thankless and vain, 
Shame on the temper 

Eager to pain ! 
Hearts that in selfishness 

Only are east, 
Darkening the present 

With clouds of the past t 

Sad that the summer 

Of life should be spent 
In blighting the roses 

For happiness sent ; 
Sad that affection 

So often should grieve 
Over natures that seem 

Only born to deceive ! 



'TWAS JUST BEFORE THE HAY WAS 
MOWN. 

'T WAS just before the hay was mown, 
The season had been wet and cold ; 

When my good dame began to groan. 
And speak of days and years of old : 

Ye were a young man then, — and gay, — 
And raven black your handsome hair ; 



122 THE HAIL IS BEATING. 

All ! Time steals many a grace aAvay, 
And leaves us many a grief to bear. 

Tush ! tusli ! said I, we 've had our time, 

And if t were here again 'twould go; 
The youngest cannot keep their prime, 

The darkest head some gray must show. 
We Ve been together forty years. 

And though it seem but like a day. 
We 've much less cause, dear dame, for tears, 

Than many who have trod life's way. 

Goodman, said she, ye 're always right. 

And 'tis a pride to hear your tongue ; 
And though your fine old head be white, 

'Tis dear to me as when 'twere young. 
So give your hand — 't was never shown 

But in affection unto me ; 
And, I shall be beneath the stone — 

And lifeless — when 1 love not thee. 



THE HAIL IS BEATING. 

The hail is beating 'gainst the door, 

The lightning flash is in the sky ; 
And darkly o'er the dismal moor 

The awful thunder rolleth by : 
But Love cares not for wet or dry ; 

I'll out, and breast the driving storm- 
Content if at the last I spy 

My little Mary's beauteous form. 



he's crossixg o'er the bridge, jane. 123 

She'll beam like morn from out the gloom, 

She'll cast the wet cloak from my breast, 
Her cheek to mine will lend its bloom, 

Her lip to mine be fondly pressed ! 
Flash out, ye fiery swords of night, 

Ye light the path my foot would tread ; 
But guide me to my love's dear sight, 

And howl, ye tempests, over head. 



HE'S CROSSING O'ER THE BRIDGE, 
JANE. 

He 's crossing o'er the bridge, Jane, 

He 's passed the ruined wall ; 
He looks at Mary's cottage — 

But he does not — will not call : 
No — see he 's passing quickly, 

As if afraid to wait ; 
His breath is coming thickly — 

He 's knocking at our gate. 

Come, braid your lovely hair, Jane, 

And smooth away that frown. 
Lift up that drooping bosom. 

And hasten kindly down ; 
Believe me he 's repenting. 

And though it come but late, 
'Tis useless now lamenting — 

He 's knockinof at the gate. 



124 THE FIRST COUPLE. 

And though he knock for ever, 

Knock, till the stars grow dim, 
Each tress I would dissever — 

Ere braid my hair for him : 
Ere take one step to greet him — 

Or act so weak a part ; — 
Let Mary haste to meet him, 

He will not break liis heart. 

The last attempt hath ended. 

Each lingering knock is o'er ; 
The youth's false step hath wended 

Its way to Mary's door. 
One look of woe — no painting 

Hath ever yet expressed ; 
And that wronged heart lies fainting 

Upon a sister's breast. 



THE FIRST COUPLE. 

When bright with woman's glance and grace, 

Fair Eve to Adam's love was given, 
He gazed upon her beauteous face, 

And thought that earth indeed was heaven. 
Each day some new delight appeared. 

Each hour some new attraction sprung ; 
He found each link of life endeared, 

At last he found — that she 'd a tongue. 



125 



Close hid within those ruby gates, 

With all those pearly guards to screen it, 
He heard her tongue — tradition states — 

An hour or two before he 'd seen it. 
She teazed, as only woman can, 

A power they 've kept for ages long — 
Her plan was still the better plan, 

Her tongue by far the better tongue. 

Despite her charms, that sweetly beamed, 

Poor Adam thought, before a week, 
That, though perfection else, it seemed 

A great mistake to make her speak. 
Yet was she precious to his heart; 

And as for faults — why, she was young : 
He would not with an atom part„ 

No — not a jot, except her tongue. 



A WISH. 

Her lips like rose and rose-bud meet. 
Close shut at eve, and folded sweet ; 
The dew may gain that soft retreat. 

And enter in unheeded : 
Oh ! happy dew, might I do this. 
Thus trembling win that home of bliss ■ 
Thus lose existence in a kiss — 

I 'd care not how time speeded. 

Her hair — one curl had left the rest, 
And hung as lightly o'er her breast, 



126 A LAMExNT. 

As if her bosom it caressed, 

And in its beauty prided ; 
Oh ! hajDpy curl, such charms to press, 
To meet the breath that heaves to bless - 
Would I might clasp such loveliness, 

And touch that cheek unchided ! 



A LAMENT. 

Oh ! the lost — they leave life drear ; 

Evermore — evermore : 

Nothing can restore 
That which made existence dear ; 
Passed — like music on the ear — 
Evermore ! 

Darkness hath the soul o'erspread, 
Ever dark — ever dark ; 
Lost Hope's latest spark : 
For the beautiful hath fled — 
And a shadow wraps the dead — 
Ever dark ! 

Day returns, but not to save : 

Hope is gone — ever gone ; 
Life is all alone : 
I read her name upon her grave — 
I hear the moaning of the wave — 
Ever gone ! 



THE NIGHT HATH GONE. 



THE NIGHT HATH GONE. 

The night hath gone at last, mother, 

The long, long night of pain ; 
But life is ebbing fast, mother, 

And all your care is vain : 
Methought I heard his footstep 

Beyond the gate below ; 
Slow pacing through the midnight — 

And stepping to and fro. 

I see 't is not believed, mother, 

My words no faith impart ; 
My ear might be deceived, mother, 

;^ut not my heart — my heart ! 
And hark, 't is there again, mother — 

Again, and yet more nigh ; 
Oh ! let me see his face, mother, 

Once more before I die. 

He opens not the door, mother, 

The latch it is not there ; — 
Go, call him to step softly. 

He 's Avaiting on the stair : — 
He 's waiting — weeping — hark ! mother, 

What is it he doth say ? 
She gazed — and thus in gazing . . . 

Her sweet life passed away ! 



3^8 A MOMENT. 



A MOMENT. 



*Tis the breatli of a moment — which no one re- 
gardeth — 
That holdeth the key to each secret of life ; 
'Tis " a moment " that oft our long watching re- 
wardeth, 
And calms the dark waters of sorrow and strife : 
Its breath may seem nothing, — and yet 't is extend- 
ing 
A power the sublimest our being can know, 
A moment may yield us a bliss without ending — 
A moment consign us to darkness and woe ! 

Its circle may flash with a beauty that ages 

May crown as immortal, and hallow its birth ; 
A moment may question the wisdom of sages, 

And change the whole system and science of earth. 
A moment — the soul of the painter can feel it — 

It thrills thro' his frame with a spirit like fire ; 
A moment — oh ! once let the gifted reveal it. 

And heaven is short of the height 't would aspire. 

Go ask of the hero when victory soundeth 

What glory a moment of time may command ; 

Ask the home-seeking sailor, while fast his heart 
boundeth, 
How sweet is the moment he views his own land : 

Ask the lover, when whisper to whisper replieth 
In accents that tremble lest lips be o'erheard ; 



THE REPE^^TANT. 129 

And oh ! they will tell you each moment that dieth 
Hath crowded eternity oft in a word ! 



THE REPENTANT. 

They led me slowly to the room 

Where, in her virgin shroud, 
Pale as a floweret, whose sweet bloom, 

The first rude storm hath bowed, 
My loved, my lost, my Helen, slept : 

Oh ! hard is love's brief lot ; — 
I gazed upon her face — and wept, 

But, oh ! she saw me not ! 

I thought of many a past offence, 

Of many a vain delay. 
Of coldness and indifference 

I 'd shown her, day by day ; 
And I looked on that faded flower 

Within that shrouded spot, 
And deep remorse was in that hour — 

But, oh ! ahe knew it not ! 

I thought how oft her breast was wrung, 

When mine was calm and chill ; 
And now my own was seared and stung - 

And her poor heart was still ! 
Oh ! would, I cried, the Past could live, 

That I might change thy lot ; — 
Would I might kneel, and say '■'•forgive^' 

But, oh ! she heard me not ! 
9 



loO you've forgot. 



YOU'VE FORGOT. 

You 'VE forgot the cottage door 

Where the silver hawthorn grew, 
Where the wood-larks built of yore, 

Singing all the glad day through : 
You 've forgot the forest stream. 

Where we two so often met ; 
Watching night's descending beam 

Over clouds of roses set ! 
Love and Memory ever take 

Life upon the self-same stem ; 
They who Love's sweet flower forsake, 

Memory soon forsake th them ! 

You 've forgot the rustic gate, 

And the honey-suckle near. 
Where, at eve, you used to wait . 

For the one you said was dear ! 
Where you vowed by all above. 

Ere you changed, the stars should fall ! 
You 've forgot your maiden love — • 

Yet the stars still shine o'er all ! 
Love and Memory ever take 

Life upon the self-same stem ; 
They who Love's sweet floAver forsake, 

Memory soon forsaketh them ! 



BOUND THE COKNER. 131 



ROUND THE CORNER. 

Round the corner waiting — 

What will people say ? 
If you wish to see me 

There's a proper Avay. 
Village tongues are ever 

Ready with remark : 
Eyes are at the casement 

If a dog but bark. 
Round the corue;- waiting — 

What will people say ? 
If you wish to see me 

There 's a proper way. 

When the Church hath bound us, 

Linked two hearts in one, 
I shall care but little 

How their tongues rail on : 
But until the bridal, 

Never let them find 
Aught to cause me blushes — 

Hurt my peace of mind ! 
Round the corner waiting — 

What will people say ? 
Manly hearts should ever 

Take a manly way. 

Fifty things are stated, 

Things you'd ne'er suppose, 



132 PARTING WORDS. 

If but sometliing secret 

In a neighbor shows : 
Boldly take the pathway 

And their lips are stayed ; 
All are quick to censure 

If you seem afraid ! 
Round the corner waiting — 

What will people say ? 
If you wish to see me 

There 's a proper way ! 



PARTING WORDS. 

Now close the chamber door, mother, 

And kneel beside my bed. 
And pray that e'er the dawn, mother, 

My spirit may be fled : 
A pang is in my breast, mother — 

A thorn you cannot find ; 
A wound Avithin my heart, mother, 

No human hand can bind ! 

Should some one call, perchance, mother. 

When he shall hear I 'm dead, 
Oh ! give him this one curl, mother — 

And tell him what I 've said ! 
For they're my last, last words, mother. 

Till these poor eyes grow dim ; 
It may be I've been weak, mother. 

But I've been true to him. 



MAIDEN WORTH. 133 

But all is over now, mother, 

And we shall meet no more ; 
He '11 never know this heart, mother, 

Till all its love is o'er ! — 
You 've closed the chamber door, mother ? 

You 're kneeling by my bed ? — 
Now pray that e'er the dawn, mother, 

My spirit may be fled ! 



MAIDEN WORTH. 

Her home was but a cottage home, 

A simple home and small ; 
Yet sweetness and affection made 

It seem a fairy hall : 
A little taste, a little care, 

Made humble things appear 
As though they were translated there 

From some superior sphere ! 
Her home was but a cottage home, 

A simple home, and small. 
Yet sweetness and affection made 

It seem a fairy hall. 

As sweet the home, so sweet the Maid, 

As graceful and as good ; 
She seemed a lily in the shade, 

A violet in the bud ! 
She had no wealth, but maiden loorth — 

A wealth that 's little fame ; 



134 UNKINDNESS. 

Yet that 's tlie truest gold of earth — 
The other 's but a name ! 

Her home was but a cottage home, 
A smiple home and small, 

Yet sweetness and affection made 
It seem a fairy hall. 

A cheerfulness of soul, that threw 

A smile o'er every task, 
A willingness, that ever flew 

To serve, e'er one could ask I 
A something we could wish our oivn 

A human floweret, born 
To grace in its degree a throne, 

Or any rank adorn ! 
Her home was but a cottage home, 

A simple home and small. 
Yet sweetness and affection made 

It seem a fairy hall ! 



UNKINDNESS. 

Oh ! could I learn indifference 

From all I hear and see ; 
Nor think, nor care, for others, more 

Than they may care for me ! 
Why follow thus, with vain regret, 

To serve a broken claim ; 
If others can so soon forget. 

Why should not I the same ? 



STAY, we'll have maxy songs more. 135 

Oh ! could I learn indiiference 

From all I hear and see ; 
Nor think, nor care, for others, more 

Than they may care for me ! 

There is no blight that winter throws, 

No frost, however stern. 
Like that which chilled affection knows — 

Which hearts, forsaken, learn ! 
What solace can the world impart 

AVhen love's reliance ends ? 
Oh ! there 's no winter for the heart 

Like that unkindness sends ! 
Oh ! could I learn indifference 

From all I hear and see ; 
Nor think, nor care, for others, more 

Than they may care for me 



NAY, STAY, WE'LL HAVE MANY 
SONGS MORE. 

Nay, stay ; we '11 have many songs more 

As jovial still, ere we part. 
For 'tis tJius when our feelings run o'er 

That we touch the true key to the Heart ! 
Besides 'tis so long since we met. 

It were folly to hasten Time's flight. 
No, stay — we '11 have many songs yet, 

Ere we whisper a word of " Good Night ! '* 



136 JOY. 

The daughter of Coelus, they say, 

Her love to dark Erebus told ; 
And scattered such stars on her way, 

That the god quite mistook them for gold ! 
But the gold he thought ever to claim, 

With Morn died away from his sight ; 
Thus our joys will but vanish the same, 

The moment we whisper " Good Night ! " 



JOY. 



Earth her summer wealth is bringing, 

Every bough is, like a lyre, 
Answering to the wind's low singing — 

Sweet as bells from Fancy's spire ! 
Milder light is on the fountain, 

Softer bloom upon the flower ; 
Joy comes dancing down the mountain, 

Joy with roses wreathes the hour. 

See the stars in golden dances 

O'er the fields of azure glide ; 
See, the ocean soft advances — 

Sparkling light with fairy tide : 
Flowers with fond and gentle motion, 

Leaves with grace no storms annoy ; 
All around '■ — earth, heaven, and ocean 

Feel the influence of Joy ! 



GILD YOUR FEATHERS. 137 



GILD YOUR FEATHERS. 

Young Love but seldom asked advice, 

And when he asked but seldom took it; 
But he 'd been humbled once or twice, 

And his proud spirit could not brook it : 
So he got Wisdom to impart 

His care and counsel for all weathers ; 
Which was, to seek no maiden's heart, 

Until he'd richly gilt his feathers ! 

Love smiled ; and soon his pinions bore 

A golden blaze of beauty round him ; 
And maids, who 'd scorned young Love before, 

Now full of grace and sweetness found him ! 
Such taste' — such spirit — such delight — 

A wing to warm the worst of weathers. 
Ha ! ha ! cried Love, but Wisdom 's right — 

There 's nought like gilding well one's feathers. 



DESPAIR. 

I HAD a dream of many lands, 

A voyage fleet and far. 
Beyond the waste and desert sands — * 

The light of sun or star : 
I saw a fearful shape arise. 

The spirit of Despair ; 



i:{ 



His awful head gloomed 'mid the skies, 
And clouds his footstool were ! 

The scars and furrows myriad years 

Had branded on his head, 
Were channels old of'human tears 

That from all time were shed : 
His shadowy hands, from east to west, 

Obscured the troubled air ; 
And nations saw in dread their guest, 

And, shrieking, breathed Despair ! 

The billows backward raged and roared, 

One spring the Tempest took, 
And flashed around his lightning-sword. 

Whilst hills and forests shook : 
And, Nature, to whose gentle breast 

All human griefs repair. 
Could find no home for the oppressed — 

No refuge 'gainst " Despair ! " 



MIRTH. 

Sep:, the merry village train. 
By the fields of golden grain. 
Wreathed with flowers and ribands gay, 
Speed the rush-cart on its way ! 
Dancing, sporting, leai)ing, singing. 
Bells and glittering symbols ringing; 



MELAXCHOLY. 139 

Frolic, mirth, and laughter loud 
Gather 'neath that Climber proud, 
Up the pole to gain the crown. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! he 's down ! he 's down ! 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! he 's down ! he 's down ! 

Jocund thought and sportive jest 
Cheer each aged rustic's breast ; 
Many an earlier feat is told — 
Many a prank among the bold — 
Former spirits — olden might — 
When their hearts and heels were light ! 
See, ha ! ha ! the race of sacks — 
Half the jumpers on their backs — 
Three — now two — contest the crown. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! they both are down ! 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! they both are down ! 



MELANCHOLY. 

Under the cypress shade 

Near the wild holly, 
Where her last hope is laid, 

Mourns Melancholy ; 
All voices weary now — 

All pleasures tire her ; 
Love cannot charm her brow — 

Music inspire her ! 

No, 'neath the cypress shade, 

By the wild holly. 



140 



Where her last hope is laid, 
Mourns Melancholy. 

Still in the stars she reads 

Sorrow and parting ; 
Still on the future feeds — 

Drinks the tears starting : 
Come, list the music light — 

See, fairies tripping ! 
Gay nymphs o'er garlands bright 

Sporting and skipping ! — . 
No,'neath the cypress shade 

Near the wild holly. 
Where her last hope is laid, 

Mourns Melancholy. 



HOPE. 

I KNOW he will return ! 

There's something in my heart- 
A light, as of a star, 

That dwells, like truth, apart ! 
A feeling to confide — 

On what I scarce discern ; 
But oh ! a voice within 

Still says, '■'■He will return ! " 

I dreamt an angel came. 
With soft and starry wing. 



I WILL NOT GIVE MY HEART AWAY. 141 

That scattered bloom and joy 

O'er every living thing. 
Her breath was on my cheek — 

Her whisper in mine ear ; 
Oh ! angel words are sweet, 

But none like Hope's to cheer ! 

She showed me where his ship — 

The ocean's glory — sailed ; 
Where neither mist nor storm 

Nor wintry wrath prevailed : 
So beauteous o'er the deep, 

From gallant stem to stern, 
I blessed it in my sleep ; — 

Yes, Hope ! he will return ! 



I WILL NOT GIVE MY HEART AWAY. 

I WILL not give my heart away ; 

I am too proud, I do 'nt deny it ; 
And so, whatever you may say, 

I will not give it — you must buy it ! 
It is not gold — it is not land — 

Nor name, nor fame, nor high degree ; 
But if, indeed, you wish my hand, 

I '11 tell you what the price shall be ! 

And first, the House, — I'd have it good; 
And furnished nobly, of the best ! — 



142 I WILL NOT GIVE MY HEART AWAY. 

Its inward worth well understood, 

Its soundness equal to the test ! 
I 'd have it warm in every part ; 

In every trial, firm as well ; 
If that House is to be your Heart, 

And in that Heart I am to dwell ! 

Oh ! some with counterfeits will try, 

Before with Love's true gold they '11 part ; 
They think, but once deceive the eye, 

'Tis easy to deceive the heart ! 
But with no counterfeits, though new. 

And bravely gilt, will I be caught ; 
Though glittering brighter than the true, 

With no such coin will I be bought. 

Give me the heart that's rich in worth, 

Although in worldly riches poor ; 
The want of fortune upon earth 

Is not the worst want we endure ! 
The want of feeling — temper — trust — 

The want of truth, when hearts are sought, 
Gold, linked to these^ is worse than dust. 

With no such gold will I be bought. 

No : 'tis not gold — it is not land — 
Nor name, nor fame, nor high degree ; 

But if, indeed, you wish my hand, 
I 've told you what the price shall be. 



INDEPENDENCE. " 143 



INDEPENDENCE. 

Ye depend on one another 

For each comfort ye enjoy ; — 
There is nought the heart can foster 

That the heart may not destroy ! 
To every mind that ponders, 

To every heart that feels, 
There 's not a day but something 

This hidden truth reveals ! 
Thus — thus throughout creation 

The links of life had birth ; 
Ye speak of Independence, — 

There is no such thing on earth ! 

The seed of friendship blooms not ; 

No leaf can it impart, 
Until it finds a welcome 

In some congenial heart ! 
The light of Love can warm not 

Till found some kindred shrine, 
And then it springs immortal. 

And shows itself divine ! — 
Thus — thus throughout creation 

The links of life had birth : 
Ye speak of Independence, — 

There is no such thing on earth ! — 



144 * TIME TO ME. 



TBIE TO ME. 

Time to me this truth hath taught, 

'T is a truth that 's worth revealing ; - 
More offend from want of thought, 

Than from any want of feeling. 
If advice we would convey, 

There 's a time we should convey it ; 
If we 've but a word to say. 

There 's a tone in which to say it ! 

Many a beauteous flower decays, 

Though we tend it e'er so much; 
Something secret on it preys, 

AVliich no human aid can touch ! 
So, in many a lovely breast. 

Lies some canker-grief concealed ; 
That if touched, is more oppressed ! 

Left unto itself — is healed ! 

Oft, unknowingly, the tongue 

Touches on a chord so aching. 
That a word, or accent, wrong, 

Pains the heart almost to breaking. 
Many a tear of wounded pride, 

Many a fault of human blindness, 
Had been soothed, or turned aside, 

By a quiet voice of kindness ! 



LO ! FROM THE EASTERN SKY- 145 

Time to me this truth hath taught, 

'T is a truth that 's worth revealing ; — 

More offend from want of thought, 
Than from any want of feeling. 



LO! FROM THE EASTERN SKY. 

Lo ! from the eastern sky- 
Bright morn is breaking. 

Songs sweetly float on high 
Love's spirit waking : 

Welcome this hour of praise, 
Love and light blending ; 

Music with heaven's rays 
Prayer-like ascending ! 

Earth hath immortal wings 

Hopefully given — 
Guiding each thought that springs 

Fondly to heaven: — 
Blest be the streams that rove, 

Fountain and river ; 
Nature's OAvn voice of love 

Singing for ever. 



10 



146 WHEN LIFE HATH SORROW FOUND. 



WHEN LIFE HATH SORROW FOUND. 

When life liatli sorrow found 

Fond words may falter, 
But hearts that love hath bound 

Time cannot alter. 
No, though in grief we part, 

Meet in dejection, 
Tears but expand the heart, 

Ripen affection. 
When life hath sorrow found 

Fond words may falter. 
But hearts that love hath bound 

Time cannot alter. 

When o'er a distant sea, 

When griefs are nearest, 
Still will I think of thee, . 

Still love thee, dearest. 
Tired Hope may, like the rose, 

Fade 'neath time's fleetness. 
Yet yield each blast that blows 

Half its own sweetness. 
When life hath sorrow found 

Fond words may falter. 
But hearts that love hath bound 

Time cannot alter. 



AN EMBLEM. — A LONELY CLOUD. 147 

AN EMBLEM. — A LONELY CLOUD. 

"Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." 

A LONELY cloud, as eve began, 

Its quiet rest did take, 
As graceful as a sleeping swan 

Upon a moonlit lake : 
One star, companion of the west, 

Shone 'mid that cloudy sphere, 
Like hope, within a human breast, 

When sorrow darkens near ! 

And oh ! methought, for all our woes 

A lesson here is given : 
Would man might thus his griefs repose 

Upon the breast of heaven — 
Look upward to that realm afar 

When worldly cares have birth, 
And rest his hope on God's own star — 

And take his heart from earth ! 



THE LAST MEETING. 

So mournfully she gazed on him 
As if her heart would break ; 

Her silence more upbraided him 
Than all her tongue might speak ! 



148 OH ! IT WAS IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

So mournfully she gazed on liim, 

Yet answer made slie none ; — 
But tears that could not be repressed, 

Fell sloAvly, one by one. 

" I hoped," she said, — but what she hoped - 

In blushes died away : 
" I thought," she said, — but what she thought 

Her tears might only say ! 

She could do nought but gaze on him, 

For answer she had none ; 
But tears that could not be repressed. 

Fell slowly, one by one. 

Alps ! that life should be so short — 

So short, and yet so sad : 
Alas ! that we so late are taught 

To prize the time we had ! 

The silent sorrow of that hour 

Will haunt his daily track ; 
And oft he '11 wish, when lost the power, 

He 'd called that weeper back. 



OH! IT WAS IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

Oh ! it was in the moonlight 

AVe two walked forth alone ; 
The silvery softness wooed us 

With majiic of its own ! 



LIGHT OF HEART. 149 

The Moon, as if she loved us, 

Seemed with us gHding on ; 
And blended in her holy hght 

Our shadows into one. 

Our shadows into one, my dear, 

As if the heavens above 
Beheld our hearts and knew, though two^ 

They were made one by love ! 
The music of the silvery night 

Enchanted all our way : 
The very Garth seemed dressed in white, 

As for our bridal day ! . 



LIGHT OF HEART. 

Light of heart am I, 

Nothing more shall grieve me ; 
Wherefore should I sigh ? 

Sighing can't relieve me ! 
When the blight is shed 

Tears cannot efface it ; 
When the bloom hath fled 

Weeping can't replace it ! 
Light of heart am I, 

Nothing more shall grieve me ; 
Wherefore should I sigh ? 

Sighing can't relieve me ! 

Wherefore feel for those 
Who feel not for others ! — 



150 IF THOU SPEAK'ST. 

Hearts tliat will be foes — 

When they should be brothers ! 
Those we loved — are gone ; 

Who love us — we find not : 
Let the world frown on 

As it will — we mind not ! 
Light of heart am I, 

Nothing more shall grieve me ; 
Wherefore should I sigh V 

Sishins: can't relieve me ! 



IF THOU SPEAK'ST 

If thou speak'st, though snows surround thee, 

Still the birds believe 'tis Spring; 
And with transport flutter round thee 

More to listen than to sing ! 
If thou smil'st — 'tis beauty's summer, 

And thou dost misguide the rose ; — ■ 
And the lark, the latest comer, 

Heavenward with the mission goes ! 

If from Nature's golden portal 

Thou bewild'rest nature's own, 
How should I, who am but mortal, 

'Scape the witchery of thy tone? 
What is Earth if thou forsake it ? 

What the seasons unto me ? 
Earth is what thou deign 'st to make it; 

Life is winter without thee ! 



BEAUTY IS DEAD. 151 



BEAUTY IS DEAD. 

Snow-stormy Winter rides 

Wild on the blast, 
Hoarsely the sullen tides 

Shoreward are cast ; 
Morn meets no more the lark 

Warbling o'erhead ; 
Nature mourns, dumb and dark • 

Beauty is dead ! 

Sear on the willow-bank 

Fades the last leaf; 
Flower-heads that early sank 

Bowed as with grief; 
Autumn's rich gifts of bloom, 

All, all are fled ; 
Winter brings shroud and tomb - 

Mary is dead. 

Sweeter than summer bird 

Sang from her bough ; 
Music, the sweetest heard, 

Silent is now ; 
Pale lies that cheek of woe 

On its last bed ; 
Winter — too well I know — 

Beauty is dead ! 



152 



LIFE. 

Love's a song, and Life's the singer, 
Hope sits listening to the strain, 

'Till old Time, that discord bringer, 
Jars the music of the twain. 

Love, and Life, and Time, together 
Rarely yet were friendly found ; 

If Love heralds sunny weather, 
Time to other duties bound, 
Buries Hfe half under ground : — 
Oh, the lot of Life how sad ! 

Why should Time thus fail to cherish 

All that lends existence worth ? 
Wherefore should Love droop and perish 

As but doomed to woe on earth ? 
Love, and Life, and Time, together 

Better friends we trust may be ; 
If Time's of inconstant feather, 

Love and Hope should still agree : — 

Life is lost hetiveen the three ! 
Oh, the lot of Life how sad ! 



NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. 153 



NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. 

Never rail at the world — it is just as we make it, 

We see not the flower if we set not the seed ; 
And as for ill-luck, why it's just as we take it, — 

The heart that's in earnest, no bars can impede. 
You question the justice which governs man's breast 

And say that the search for true friendship is 
vain ; 
But remember, this world, though it be not the best, 

Is the- next to the best we shall ever attain. 

Never rail at the world, nor attempt to exalt 

That feeling which questions society's claim ; 
For often poor Friendship is less in the fault. 

Less changeable oft, than the selfish who blame : 
Then ne'er by the changes of fate be deprest. 

Nor wear like a fetter Time's sorrowful chain : 
But believe that this world, though it be not the 
best. 

Is the next to the best we shall ever attain. 



SHE'S NOT SO FAIR. 

She 's not so fair as many there 
But she 's as loved as any. 

And few you '11 find with such a mind 
Or such a heart as Nannie : 



154 LOVING AND FORGIVING. 

A maiden grace, a modest face, 

A smile to win us ever ; 
And, she has sense — without pretence — 

And good as she is clever ! 

She 's not so fine as some may shine 

With feathers, pearls, and laces ; 
But oh, she 's got, what they have not 

With all their borrowed graces, 
Eyes blue and bright with heaven's light, 

That kindle with devotion ; 
A cheek of rose, a heart that glows 

With every sweet emotion ! 
She 's not so fair as many there 

But she's as loved as any, 
And few you '11 find with such a mind 

Or such a heart as Nannie. 



LOVING AND FORGIVING. 

Oh, loving and forgiving — 

Ye angel- words of earth. 
Years were not worth the living 

If ye too had not birth ! 
Oh, loving and forbearing — 

How sweet your mission here ; 
The grief that ye are sharing 

Hath blessings in its tear. 

Oh, stern and unforgiving 
Ye evil words of life, 



LONELY AGE. 155 

That mock the means of living 

With never-ending strife. 
Oh, harsh and unrepenting — 

How would ye meet the grave, 
If Heaven, as unrelenting, 

Forbore not, nor forgave ! 

Oh, loving and forgiving — 

Sweet sisters of the soul. 
In whose celestial living 

The passions find control ! 
Still breathe your influence o'er us 

Whene'er by passion crost, 
And, angel-like, restore us 

The paradise we lost. 



LONELY AGE. 

The gate is swinging from the hasp, 

The garden plat shrinks, less and less, 
'Mid Aveed and seed, and things that clasp 

All beauty in their hideousness ; 
The wildness seems to grow and grow, 

However late or long 1 strive ; 
There 's nothing blooms ! It was not so 

When Ellen was alive ! 

The neighbors for a time were kind. 
And rarely passed without a word ; 

But they who grieve have friends to find ! 
And sorrow tires when often heard ! 



156 THE BETROTHED. 

So by another path they go 

Across the brook, beyond the hive, 

And few come near : — it was not so 
When Ellen was alive ! 



THE BETROTHED. 

Had I met thee in thy beauty 

When my heart and hand were free, 

When no other claimed the duty 
Which my soul would yield to thee ; 

Had I wooed thee — had I won thee — 
Oh ! how blest had been my fate ; 

But thy SAveetness hath undone me — 
I have found thee — but too late ! 

For to one my vows were |3hghted 

With a faltering lij) and pale ; 
Hands our cruel sires united, 

Hearts were deemed of slight avail ! 
Thus my youth's bright morn o'ershaded, 

Thus betrothed to wealth and state. 
All Love's own sweet prospects faded — 

I have found thee — but too late ! 

Like the fawn that finds the fountain 
With the arrow in his breast ; 

Or like light upon the mountain 
Where the snow must ever rest, 



MORTALITY. 157 

Thou hast known me — but forget me ! 

For I feel what ills await : — 
Oh ! 't is madness to have met thee — 

To have found thee — but too late ! 



MORTALITY. 

The house is old, the house is cold, 

And on the roof is snow ; 
And in and out and round about 

The bitter night- winds blow : 
The bitter night- winds howl and blow — 

And darkness thickens deep, — 
And oh, the minutes creep as slow 

As tliough they were asleep ! 

It used to be all light and song, 

And mirth and spirits gay — 
The day could never prove too long ; 

The night seemed like the day ! 
The night seemed bright and Hght as day 

Ere yet that house was old ; 
Ere yet its aged roof was gray. 

Its inner chambers cold : — 

Old visions haunt the creaking floors — 

Old sorrows sit and wail ; — 
While still the night-winds out of doors 

Like burly bailiffs rail ! 
Old visions haunt the floor above : 

The walls with wrinkles frown : 



158 IF THY FORM. 

And people say, who pass that way, 
'Twere well the house were down. 



IF THY FORM. 

If thy form be matchless fair 

'T is a form that still eludes me, 
If thy lips make sweet the air 

They are lips that still exclude me ; 
Say those eyes are stars of night 

They are stars that oft mislead me ; 
Say those curls are beams of light 

They from light to darkness speed me. 

Say thou 'rt proud — thou shouldst be told 

Pride, like ice-drops in the morn, love, 
GHttering on some flow'ret cold, 

Ruin what they would adorn, love ! 
Say thou 'rt dear — yet should'st thou know 

Love must on affection feed, love, — 
Where affection cannot grow, 

Life is sorrowful indeed, love. 

Say those eyes are stars of night 

They are stars that oft mislead me, 
Say those curls are beams of light 

They from light to darkness speed me : 
Bid thy beauty dazzle less — 

Lest the world should all adore, love ; 
Bid diy lips some love express — 

And than worlds 1 '11 love thee more, love. 



EXPRESSION AND BEAUTY. 150 



EXPRESSION AND BEAUTY. 

It was one of those faces, so gifted with graces, 
Such SAveetness of thought, such expression was in it; 
Your eyes were enchanted, as if from their places — 
Your heart — if you had one — was gone in a 

minute. 
Yet it was not that Beauty reigned paramount there, 
That the lip and the cheek were to magic aUied, 
'Twas a softness of feature, -so winningly fair. 
Expression seemed worth every beauty beside ! 

I care not for clever, vain creatures, that ever 
Are dreaming of conquests, and captives o'erthrown ; 
His heart is not lost^ though awhile he may sever, 
Who gets, in exchange, a good heart for his own ! — 
And sweet is the feehng, delicious the duty, 
When hearts beat the same till existence is run ; 
For, oh ! by Expression — as often as Beauty — 
The soul of the Lover — the Husband — is won ! 



LOVE'S CONFESSION. 

If there seemed coldness in my glance, 
Oh, could thy heart not read 

I did hnt feign indifference. 

That thou the more might'st plead ! 



160 A SIGH. 

If' I confessed a douht upon 

The love I found so true, 
Oh ! 't was not that I wished thee gone, 

But that thou more wouldst woo ! 

'Twas sweet to have a thousand fears, 

And each by thee removed ; 
'Twas bhss — 'twas music to my ears — 

To love and be beloved ! 
And thus to prove thee o'er and o'er, 

My fond complaints grew bold ; 
But never did I love thee more 

Than when thou deem'dst me cold ! 



A SIGH. 

Nothing that lives can bloom 

Long upon earth ; 
Meteors, that realms illume, 

Die in their birth ! 
All that the soul admires — 
All that the heart desires — 
From heart and soul expires ; 

Leaving but dearth ! 

Stars, as they light the hours 
Steal them away ! — 

Suns which unfold the flowers 
Brinir them decav ! — 



TOLD YOU. 161 



Even Morn's beams of light 
Fresh on their heavenly flight, 
Shine but to speed the Night ! - 
Nothing can stay ! — 

So, for a httle while, 

Time passes on — 
FloAvers that our hopes beguile 

Fade one by one ! 
All that our love can say, 
Of those who blessed our way, 
Is — that they passed their day- 

Lived — and are gone ! 



I TOLD YOU. 

I TOLD you roses ne'er would wed 

Their bloom to wintry air ; 
But then, you pressed my hps, and said, 

The rose you loved bloomed there ! — 
I said the wintry day was bare, 

The sun far out of view ; 
You smiled, and vowed my golden hair, 

Was sunhght unto you ! 

I said the woods no more rejoice 

With notes, more SAveet than words ; 

But, oh, you whispered then, my voice 
Was sweeter than the birds : 
11 



1G2 WHY ART THOU SO UNLIKE THE REST. 

And still whatever charm I named 
That lends to Spring delight, 

You, for your own loved maiden, claimed, 
And lived but in her sight ! 

Blow, chiUing winds of Winter, blow ! 

Whilst Love the heart illumes, 
Life's roses still exist 'mid snow — 

And Spring eternal blooms ! 
Roll, heavy clouds of Winter, roll ! 

Love, from the dark, hath thrown 
A sunlight over heart and soul 

More bright than heaven's own ! 



WHY ART THOU SO UNLIKE THE 
REST? 

Why art thou so unlike the rest — 

So far unlike the beings near thee ? 
Why com'st thou Hke some heavenly guest. 

Why seems it heaven itself to hear thee ? 
Or is my own fond heart too fond — 

And finds thee, what none else have found thee V 
Oh, no: thy presence soars beyond 

All meaner things that gather round thee. 

Why look'st thou with those eyes of love 
As though a seraph dwelt within them ? 

Why speak'st thou sweet as lips above — 
That breathe to angel hearts and win them : 



OH, BLEST THE HOME. 163 

Why see'st thou all with such kind eyes 
Whilst mine thyself can only see ! — 

And even as tliey gaze Earth flies — 
And all their vision's lost in thee ! 



OH, BLEST THE HOME. 

Oh, blest the Home where Love is known, 

And early feelings alter not. 
Where Friendship's power makes glad each hour, 

And truth and kindness falter not ! 
Where self-control stiU guards the whole 

Unchanged, whatever ills betide ; 
Oh, though bereft — whilst Home is left — 

'Tis worth all other wealth beside ! 

Whilst there we meet, e'en care is sweet ; 

For sorrow binds us nearer yet ! 
No cold reply whilst Love sits by. 

No, — grieving hearts grow dearer yet ! — 
And blest the tears Affection cheers ; — 

We ne'er should know how loved we were, 
[f Life had not some change of lot. 

Some woe for Love to soothe and share. 



104 IF YOU KNEW. 



IF YOU KNEW. 

If you knew how much I treasure 

Every little word you say, 
That an accent of displeasure 

Grieves my heart for many a day : 
You would pause ere word or whisper 

Wounded one who loves so dear, 
Nor attend each coxcomb lisper. 

Mincing fops, who win your ear ! 

Creatures in whose selfish being 

Nothing high, or noble dwells, 
In existence only seeing 

Their poor, narrow, empty selves ! 
Creatures in whose feeling never 

SjDrang a thought for others' weal, 
Vain, and eager but to sever 

Those whose better hearts can feel ! 

If you knew how much I treasure 

E'en the slightest thing you touch, 
You would pause, in your displeasure, 

Ere you wronged my heart so much ; 
Easy, o'er the surface floating, 

To be light — and gay — and free ! — 
'Tis for hearts too fond and doating — 

To feel mute and sad — like me ! 



THE SNOW. 165 



THE SNOW. 



The silvery snow! — the silvery snow ! — 

J^Ike a glory it falls on tlie fields below ; 

And the trees with their diamond branches appear 

Like the fairy growth of some magical sphere ; 

While soft as music, and wild and white, 

It glitters and floats in the pale moonlight. 

And spangles the river and fount as they flow ; 

Oh ! who has not loved the bright, beautiful snow I 

The silvery snow, and the crinkling frost — 
How merry we go when the Earth seems lost ; 
Like spirits that rise from the dust of Time, 
To live In a purer and hoHer clime ! — 
A new creation without a stain — 
Lovely as Heaven's own pure domain 
But, ah ! like the many fair hopes of our years, 
It olitters awhile — and then melts into tears. 



THE FLOWER AND THE RUIN. 

What charm in this dark ruin. 

What pity canst thou find, 
That thou, sweet flower, art wooing 

The breeze to blow more kind ? 
Its rugged walls frown lonely 

Where old fiiends used to meet ; 



166 THE MERRY HEART. 

All fled, fond flower — tliou only 
Art still unchanged and sweet ! 

O'er thoughts, that tears awaken — 

O'er friends that ne'er return — 
How many hearts forsaken. 

Like thee, dark ruin, mourn ? 
Yet, oh ! though fate hath bound them 

With many a chain of ill, 
Some human flower twines round them 

Mdst ruin loves them still ! 



THE MERRY HEART. 

'Tis well to have ,a merry heart, 

However short we stay ; 
There 's wisdom in a merry heart, 

Whate'er the world may say. 
Philosophy may lift its head 

And find out many a flaw, 
But give me the philosopher 

That's happy with a straw. 

If life but brings us happiness, 

It brings us, we are told. 
What 's hard to buy, though rich ones try 

AVith all their heaps of gold. 
Then laugh away, let othei's say 

Whate'er they will of mirth. 
Who laughs the most may truly boast 

He 's o;ot the wealth of earth. 



THANK GOD FOK ALL. 167 

There 's beauty in the merry heart, 

A moral beauty, too ; 
It shows the heart 's an honest heart, 

That's paid each man his due ; 
And lent a share of what's to spare, 

Despite of wisdom's fears, 
And makes the cheek less sorrow speak, 

The eye weep fewer tears. 

The sun may shroud itself in cloud, 

The tempest wrath begin ; 
It finds a spark to cheer the dark, 

Its sunlight is within ; 
Then laugh away, let others say 

Whate'er they will of mirth ; 
Who laughs the most may truly boast 

He 's got the wealth of earth. 



THANK GOD FOR ALL. 

Beside yon oak a rustic roof appears, 

A cottage garden leads unto the door, 
A few wild plants the lowly easement cheers. 

And all around looks neat though all is poor. 
There Philip dwells, and takes a neighbor's part, 

Though httle be the means his help to test ; 
Yet still, though poor, he says, with grateful heart, 

'Tis well to labor, — and that God knows best I 

The hare flits by him with her dewy feet. 
As blithe of heart he quits his cottage gate ; 



168 WHAT IS THAT WE TAKE FROM EARTH ? 

The golden village lane with dawn is sweet, 
And Philip feels content, though low his state ; 

For labor unto him can joy impart, 

'Tis independence to his honest breast ; 

And still, though poor, he says, with grateful heart, 
'Tis well to labor, — and that God knows best ! 

His wife beside the door waits his return, 

His children's voices meet him half the way, 
And while the sun within the west doth burn. 

And bird and brook sing sweet the close of day, 
Philip forgets his toil, his chair to find, 

By little arms and Uttle lips carest ; 
And gazing round, exclaims, Avith grateful mind. 

Thank God for all, — thank God, who knoweth 
best! 



WHAT IS THAT WE TAKE FROM 
EARTH V 

What is that we take from earth 

When the spirit leaves its clay ? 
What is there of mortal birth 

AVorthy to be borne away ? 
Is it state, or power, or fame. 

Gold or rank, we need above ? 
Oh ! there 's nought worth heaven's claim 

Save that gift of heaven — love ! 
Love, which fills the world with light, 

When the sun hath set afar : 



WHAT IS THAT WE TAKE FEOM EARTH ? 169 

Love which joins us in our flight 
To that land where angels are ! 

From all nature doth it draw 

Beauty to adorn its shrine ; 
By some spiritual law 

Making earthly things divine. 
It the inner soul inspires, 

It the purer life reveals ; 
And eternity requires 

To express the faith it feels ! 
Love, 't is love, fills earth with light, 

When the sun hath set afar ; 
Love, which joins us in our flight 

To that world where angels are ! 

Yes, 'mid all that God hath made 

There is one surpassing spell ; 
In its strength are saints arrayed, 

In its glory angels dwell. 
It is this which still outspeeds 

Sight and space, and time and breath. 
It is this the spirit needs 

When immortal over death ! 
Sweetness which outblooms the May, 

Brightness which outsliines the star ; 
This, 'tis this, we bear away 

To that land where ansels are ! 



170 TO THE YOUNG. 



TO THE YOUNG. 

If a dower to man were granted, 

Free and boundless in extent, 
Hills on which renown was planted, 

Soil for widest culture meant ; 
What would be the donor's sorrow 

If that unattended earth 
Showed no promise for the morrow ? 

Nothing but defect and dearth ! 

Or if some small cultivation, 

But in patches scattered o'er; 
Flowers — a few for decoration — 

Just in front, and nothing more ! 
All the vast extent behind it 

Left without one seed to grow ; 
Left — as Time ought ne'er to find it, 

Since God bade the sun to glow ! 

Oh, the gift of Mind is greater 

Than the gift of land could be. 
Nothing from our kind Creator 

Breathes so much of deity ; 
Nothing through the world's extension 

Equals that eternal dower ; 
Scarce an angel's comprehension 

Spans the vastness of its power ! 



TO THE YOUNG. !« 1 

If, then, but a thin partition 

Of that mind true culture knows, 
If no tillage gains admission, 

Nought that right advancement shows ; 
Is it grateful to the Donor, 

AVho — some j)urpose to fulfil — 
Made ye of such power the owner, 

To be careless of his will ? 

Is it grateful to the spirit 

Poorly thus its worth to scan ? 
To neglect what ye inherit ? 

Disregard God's gift to man ? 
Is it wise to rest contented 

With this half-instructed state ? 
Lost time ne'er was unrepented — 

But regret may come too late ! 

Work then, youth, while yet 'tis morning, 

Broad the land before you lies, 
Neither task nor labor scorning. 

Which the fruit of thought supplies ; • 
As you work so choose your station. 

Knowing life and its demands ; 
Knowing 'tis through cultivation 

That the living Mind expands ! 



172 THE TKEE OF THE VALLEY. 



THE TREE OF THE VALLEY. 
I. 

The tree of the valley 

Waves gracefully round, 
Its green leaves in beauty 

Adorning the ground ! 
But dark 'neath its verdure 

The broken bough grieves ; 
And deep are its storm-wounds, 

Though hid by the leaves ! 

II. 

'T is thus with ourselves — 

To the world we appear 
All smiles, as unknowing 

A sigh, or a tear ! 
And little they think. 

Whom the light laugh beguiles, 
That hearts which are breaking 

Hide sorrow 'neath smiles ! 



SWEET EIGHTEEN. 

I. 

Sweet eighteen ! — graceful eighteen ! 

Bring me roses — the birth-day flower — • 
Bathe them in dews where the fairies have been, 

To wreath a charm for my natal hour ; 



SWEET EIGHTEEN. 1 73 

t 

Time will show me his magic glass — ■ 
Future life in each varied scene — 

Lights and shadows which come and pass 
Over the heart when it's turned eighteen ! 



Mother, oh ! sing me again to rest, 

Tender and fond as thy bosom of yore ; 
Father, I kneel, to again be blest 

Over my prayers as thou blessed me before ! 
Nature half grieving, half glad, appears ; 

Tears and smiles on the skies have been ; 
Just as I feel when I call past years, 

And think that I now am — oh, sweet eighteen ! 



Summer hath brought me a bridal dress, 

Lilies all gemmed with the treasures of morn ; 
Woodbines that twine, with their fondest caress, 

Round the old cottage loliere they were horn ! 
Thus will I cherish, thus hallow the spot, 

Passing the moments your loves between ; 
For what are the pleasures my home has not ? 

Oh, what other years are like sweet eighteen ? 



174 GIVE ME THE NIGHT. 



GIVE ME THE NIGHT. 

I. 

Give me the Night, love, tlie beautiful Night ! 

When the stars in the heavens are glittering bright ; 

When the flowers are asleep on their pillow of 
leaves, 

And no murmur is near, save the sigh the heart 
heaves ; 

When the spirit of tenderness hallows each scene, 

And Memory turns fondly to days that have been ; 

When the valley's sweet waters reflect the moon- 
light — 

Oh ! give me the Night, love, the beautiful Night ! 



Give me the Night, be it starless and long. 

When the gay hall is sounding with music and 

song, — 
When the genius of poetry breathes her deep 

power, 
And, oh ! Love itself is more lovely that hour ; 
When the dark curls of beauty more gracefully 

shine, 
And the eyes bright by day, are at evening divine ! 
When all is enchantment that blesses the sight — 
Oh ! give me the Night, love, the beautiful Night ! 



SONG. 1 75 



SONG. 



The winds are blowing winterly ! 
Lonely o'er the midnight sea, 
Frozen sail and icy mast 
Shiver in the northern blast ! 
AVild birds to their rock-nests flee, 
For the winds are blowing winterly ! 

O'er the moor the cotter strides — 
Drifting snow his pathway hides ; 
Stars keep trembling in and out, 
As though too cold to look about ! 
Glad he '11 see his own roof-tree — 
For the winds are blo"sving winterly ! 

By the fire the cotter's dame 
Sits, yet scarcely feels the flame ; 
Often looks she from the door, 
Fearing sad that dismal moor. 
And weeping for her son at sea — 
For the winds are howling winterly ! 



CANZONET. 

The flower thou lov'st — the flower thou lov'st — 
Oh ! would I were that blessed flower; 

To be with thee where'er thou rbv'st. 

Thine own young breast, my beauteous bower ; 



176 THE BIRD OF HOPE. 

To feel thy warm lips, soft and sweet, 
Breathe fondly o'er my crimson bloom : 

*T were bliss to die if thus to meet 
So kind a death — so fair a tomb ! 

The flower thou lov'st — oh ! 't were indeed 

A fate of unalloyed delight ; 
Thus on thy beauty's breath to feed, 

And gently fade in thy loved sight : 
For, oh ! when every leaf was gone, 

That once thine eyes with light could fill ; 
In spirit I would linger on. 

And float, in fragrance, round thee still. 



THE BIRD OF HOPE. 



A GOLDEN cage of sunbeams 

Half down a rainbow hung ; 
And sweet therein a golden bird 

The whole bright morning sung!- 
The winged shapes around it, grew 

Enchanted as they heard : 
It was the bird of Hope — my love - 

It Avas Hope's golden bird ! 

II. 

And ever of to-morrow 
The syren song began ! — 



POOR man's song. 177 

Ah, what on earth's so musical 

As love and hope to man ? — 
I listened, thinking still of thee, 

And of thy promised word : 
It was the bird of Hope — sweet love — 

It was Hope's golden bird ! 

III. 

Though ours should be a cottage home, 

From pride and pomp apart ; 
The truest wealth for happiness 

Is still a faithful heart. 
And thus it sung — " unloving wealth 

Would never he preferred ! " — 
It was the bird of Hope — sweet love — 

It was Hope's golden bird ! 



POOR MAN'S SONG. 

I. 

Oh ! better be poor and be merry. 

Than rich as a lord and be sad ; 
For good beer laughs louder than sherry, 

Which never such happy friends had ! 
There's a tale for each drop in the tankard, 

A song for each fresh filling-up ; 
Time may chide if he will, — here Ave 're anchored ^ 

Whilst Friendship goes round with the cup. 
For better be poor and be merry, etc. 
12 



178 THE BEAUTIFUL DAY. 

II. 

The Baron may arrogate loudly 

The splendors of lordship and land; 
And why not the Peasant as proudly 

The skill of his wealth-making hand ! 
Oh, liberty 's not for the knightly — 

The poorest are often more free ; 
And he who thinks well, and acts rightly, 

Who's richer or nobler than he ? 

Then better be poor and be merry, etc. 



Here's the strength of old England, my hearties, 

The vigor that lies in good heer ! 
Political changes and parties 

Keep outside the door whilst we 're here ! 
May the plough and the loom thrive together ; 

May Industry ne'er know a sigh ; 
And the times that bring darkest of weather 

Still show us a brighter day nigh ! 

Then better be poor and be merry, etc. 



jrriE BEAUTIFUL DAY. 

Day on the mountain, the beautiful Day, 
And the torrent leaps forth in the pride of his ray ; 
The chamois awakes from her wild forest dream, 
And bounds in the gladness and life of his beam; 
And the horn of the Hunter is sounding, — away ! 
Light, light on the hills — 'tis the beautiful Day ! 



KING FROST. 179 

Day in the valley, — the ri toilet rolls 
Cloudless and calm as the home of our souls ; 
The harvest is waving, and fountain and flower 
Are sparkling and sweet as the radiant hour ; 
And the song of the reapers, the lark's sunny lay, 
Proclaim through the valley — Day ! beautiful Day I 

Oh, solemn and sad his far setting appears, 

AVhen the last ray declines, and the flowers are in 

tears, — 
When the shadows of evening like death-banners 

wave. 
And darkness encloses the world like a grave ; 
Yet, the sun, like the soul, shall arise from decay, 
And again light the world with Day, beautiful Day ! 



KING FROST. 



King Frost galloped hard from his Palace of Snow 
To the hills whence the floods dashed in thunder 

below ; 
But he breathed on the waters, that swooned at his 

will. 
And their clamor was o'er, for the torrents stood still ! 
" Ho ! ho ! " thought the King, as he galloped along, 
" I have stopped those mad torrents awhile in their 

song." 



180 KING FROST. 

II. 

Witli pennons high streaming, in gladness and pride, 

A fair vessel moved o'er the billowy tide ; 

But whilst bold hearts were deeming their perils all 
past, 

King Frost struck the billows, and fettered them 
fast ! 

" Ho ! ho ! " cried the monarch, " their homes may- 
long wait 

Ere aught, my fine vessel, be heard of your fate ! " 

III. 

Through the forest rode he, and the skeleton trees 
Groaned, withered and wild, 'gainst the desolate 

breeze ; 
And shook their hoar locks as the Frost King flew by, 
Whilst the hail rattled round, like a volley from 

high ! 
" Ho ! ho ! " shouted he, " my old Sylvans, ye 're 

bare. 
But my minister. Snow, shall find robes for your 

wear ! " 

IV. 

By the convent sped he — by the lone, ruined fane, 
Where the castle frowned wild o'er its rocky domain ; 
And the warder grew pallid, and shook, as in fear, 
As the monarch swept by with his icicle spear ! 
Whilst his herald, the Blast, breathed defiance 

below. 
And hurrahed for King Frost and liis Palace of 

8now ! 



THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. 181 



THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. 



The Peasantry of England, 

The merry hearts and free ; 
The sword may boast a braver band — 

But give the scythe to me ! 
Give me the fame of industry, 

Worth all your classic tomes ! 
God guard the English Peasantry, 

And grant them happy homes ! 

II. 

The sinews of old England ! 

The bulwarks of the soil ! 
How much we owe each manly hand, 

Thus fearless of its toil ! 
Oh, he who loves the harvest free, 

Will sing where'er he roams, 
God bless the English Peasantry, 

And give them happy homes ! 

III. 

God speed the plough of England ! 

We '11 hail it with three cheers : 
And here 's to those whose labor planned 

The all which life endears ! 
IMay still the wealth of Industry 

Be seen where'er man roams ; 
A cheer for England's Peasantry ! 

"God send them happy homes ! 



182 THE bride's father. 



THE BRIDE'S FATHER. 



The last kiss is given — the last adieu sighed — 
The bridegroom 's away with his beautitul bride ; 
Alone sits the father — alone in his years ! 
The mansion is silent, the old man in tears ! 
He thinks of her sweetness, which soothed every care, 
And he fondly looks up, as expecting her there. 
Ah ! when was the time he such sorrow had shown, 
As she came not ? — but now the old man weeps 
alone. 

II. 

And could she remember his fondness, that threw 
Fresh flowers o'er her path every moment she 

knew — 
That granted each wish her light heart could pre- 
fer— 
Who in the wide world had but her — only her ! 
Oh, Nature ! how strange and unfeeling appears 
This breaking of all the affections of years, 
For one who a summer ago was unknown ! 
Yet that one has her heart — the old man weeps 
alone ! 

III. 

No, not for a crown — as an emperor's bride — 
Had I quitted a father's affectionate side ! 



THE FIRST PRAYER. 183 

I'd have thought of his evenings, long, lonely, and 

dim, 
And prized not a love unconnected with him ; 
Deemed the one who 'd have soothed not my father's 

decline, 
Howe'er he might love me, unworthy of mine ; 
Nor changed the affections 'neath which I had 

grown, 
Nor left a fond father — old, cheerless, and lone ! 



THE FIRST PRAYER. 

I. 

Tell me, oh! ye stars of night — 

In the ages ye have seen, 
Aught more gentle, mild, and bright, 
Aught more dear to angels' sight, 

Hath there been ; 
Or more innocent and fair, 
Than an infant's earliest prayer ? 

II. 

Tell me, oh ! ye flowers that meet 

By the valley or the stream. 
Have ye incense half so sweet, — 
Fragrance in your rich retreat, — 

That ye deem 
Half so dear to Heaven's care, 
As an infant's quiet prayer ? 



184 NO MORE. 



Speak, and tell me, thou, oh ! Time, 

From the commg of the Word, 
Aught more holy, more sublime, 
From the heart of any clime. 

Hast thou heard. 
Than the voice ascending there, 
Than that lowly infant's prayer ? 



NO MORE. 

I. 

No more, dear valley of my youth, 
I breathe thy free inspiring air ; — 

Romance hath yielded now to Truth, 

Dark droop the hopes that once bloomed fair ! 

The poetry of soul that threw 

Its fine and rich enchantment o'er 

The valley, and each scene I knew, 
Is felt no more ! 



No more, beside the clustering vine. 

My sister, may'st thou smile and sing ; — 

Yet, oh ! if ever song 's divine 

It is when Memory wreathes the string! — 

I left thee, but with looks that gave 
No coming sorrow to deplore ; — 

And now — I weep above thy grave ! — 
Thou sing'st no more ! — 



THE TRUMPET HAD SOUNDED. IS" 
III. 

It is not that the Vale is changed, 
The change is in my own sad heart ; 

Still smile the very scenes we ranged, 

But where 's the charm they could impart ? 

Ah, thus looks youth to Man as born 
For aU that nobler minds adore ; 

And man looks back to Youth's brief morn 
And smiles no more ! 



THE TRUMPET HAD SOUNDED. 

The trumpet had sounded — 

The drum beat to arms — 
But he stayed yet to bless her, 

And swear by her charms. 
That no foreign beauty, 

Nor riches — nor power — 
Should find him forgetting 

His own English flower ! 
He kissed her fair ringlets, 

One look — and away : — 
He passed like the sunlight, 

And dark grew the day ! 

There was gleaming of falchion 

To slay and deform ; 
There was hissing of bullet. 

Like hail throuuh the storm ! 



186 CORONATION SONG- 

There was waving of standard 

And tossing of plume — 
'Mid war-cry and death-cry 

And battle's red gloom : 
But the Victor triumphant 

Returned with proud name, 
And the heart of a Princess 

Was won by his fame ! 

A war for a moment 

His bosom assailed, 
'Twixt honor and riches ! — 

But honor prevailed : 
Still true to his station 

And her he loved best, 
The light of temptation 

Grew dim in his breast : 
And the Hero hath taken 

His love's little hand, — 
More blessed than espousing 

The queen of the land ! 



CORONATION SONG. 

Thou music of a nation's voice. 

Thou grace of old Britannia's throne, 

Thou light, round which all hearts rejoice, 
God save and guard thee, England's own. 

While thousand, thousand hearts are thine, 
And Britain's blessing rests on thee, 



GIPSEY BALLAD. 187 

Pure may thy crown, Victoria, shine — 
And all thy subjects lovers be I 

Come, wives ! from cottage-home and field ! 

Come, daughters ! oh, ye lovely, come ! 
Bid every tongue its homage yield, 

Sound, trumpets, sound ! and peal the drum ! 
God save the Queen, ring high, ye bells ! 

Swell-forth a people's praise afar ; 
She 's crowned ! — the acclaiming cannon tells — 

The Queen ! God save the Queen ! Hurrah ! 

Long may she live, to prove the best 

And noblest crown a Queen can wear, 
Is that a people's love hath blessed, 

Whose happiness is in her care ! 
God bless the Queen ! ring sweet, ye bells ! 

Swell forth old England's joy afar ; 
She 's crowned, the exulting cannon tells : — 

The Queen ! God bless the Queen ! Hurrah ! 



GIPSEY BALLAD. 

What care we for earth's renown ; 

We, to greenwood pleasures born ; 
Tinsel makes an easier crown 

Than the proudest kings have worn. 
Though our royal sword of state 

Be a feeble willow wand ; 



188 TENT OF ABRAHAM. 

Courtiers have been glad to wait 
For the pretty Gipscy's hand ! 

Underneath the old oak tree, 
Soon as sets the summer day, 

Gipsey lads and lasses Ave, 
Dance and sing the night away 

Many bind their brows with care, 

Labor through the anxious day, 
Just to gain enough to bear 

Corpse and coffin to the clay ! 
Though but little we may claim, 

Still that little we enjoy ; 
Wealth is often but a name. 

Title but a gilded toy ! 
Underneath the old oak tree, 

Soon as sets the summer day, 
Gipsy lads and lasses we, 

Dance and sing the night away. 



TENT OF ABRAHAM. 

The shadows of an eastern day 
Lengthened along the sandy way, — 

When toiling faint and lone. 
An aged wanderer crossed the plain, — 
As if his every step were pain. 

His every breath a groan ! 
Till Abraham's tent appeared in view. 
And slowly towards his rest he drew. 



TENT OF ABRAHAM. 189 

And Abraham met his way-worn look 
With pity, — for the old man shook 

With years at every tread ; 
For he the wrinkled impress bore 
Of full one hundred years, or more, 

Upon his silvery head ; 
Then Abraham washed his aching feet, — 
Assuaged their pain, — and brought him meat. 

Ye should have known the burning glare 
Of soil, and sun, and sultry air. 

To tell how sweet the draught 
That blessed those lips, so parched and old ; 
Oh ! water, — not a world of gold 

Could buy the joy he quaffed ! — 
Ye should have toiled the burning waste 
To know how sweetly food can taste ! 

But Abraham saw with deep amaze. 
The old man's strange and godless ways ; 

For ere he bent to eat, 
Nor praise, nor thanks, he uttered there, 
Nor raised his grateful eyes in prayer 

To God,' who sent him meat ; 
Sudden he sat, in eager mood. 
And called no blessing on the food ! — 

" Owneth thou not the God of Heaven, 
That unto thee these things hath given ? " 

Said Abi'aham, in his ire ; 
He answered, — " Five score years I 've trod. 



190 TENT OF ABRAHAM. 

Yet worshipped but one only God, — 

The eternal God of Fire ! " 
And Abraham wroth, his anger spent, 
And thrust him, storming, from his tent ! 

An eastern night is dread to bear — 
There 's fever in the sickly air, 

And evils few can speak. 
Save those whose wand'ring lives have known 
The perils 'mid the desert thrown. 

When heard the tempest's shriek ! — 
Yet, pitiless, from out his sight. 
Stern Abraham cast him to the night ! 

Then there was sudden awe on Night, — 
The pale west quivered with wild light, 

The stars apart were thrown ; 
And all the air around the sky 
Seemed like a glory hung on high, — 

A gleam of worlds unknown ; 
And from that glory, high installed, 
A voice, — God's voice, — to Abraham called ! 

" Why went the Stranger from thy board ? " 
And Abraham answered, — " Know, O Lord, 

That he denied Thy name ; 
Neither would worship Thee, nor bless : 
So forth, unto the wilderness, 

I drove him, in his shame ! " 
And God said, — " If / still allow 
Peace to his errors, — couldst not thou ? 



TWO WAYS TO LIVE ON EARTH. 191 

*' If I these hundred years, have borne 
This wanderer's sin, neglect, and scorn, 

Yet ne'er did vengeance seek, 
How is't that thou, /or one poor night, 
Could'st bear him not within thy sight ? — 

Look up to me, — and speak ! " 
Then towards the Voice, with trembhng steps, he 

trod, 
And Abraham stood rebuked before his God. 



THERE ARE TWO WAYS TO LIVE ON 
EARTH. 

There are two ways to hve on earth, — 
Two ways to judge, — to act, • — to view ; 

For all things here have double birth, — 
A right and wrong, — a false and true ! 

Give me the home where kindness seeks 
To make that sweet which seemeth small ; 

Where every Hp in fondness speaks. 
And every mind hath care for all. 

Whose inmates live in glad exchange 
Of pleasures, free from vain expense ; 

Whose thoughts beyond their means ne'er range, 
Nor wise denials give offence ! 

Who in a neighbor's fortune find 

No wish, — no impulse, — to complain ; 



192 TWO WAYS TO LIVE ON EARTH. 

Who feel not, — never felt, — the mind 
To envy yet another's gain ! 

Who dream not of the mocking tide 
Ambition's foiled endeavor meets, — 

The bitter pangs of wounded pride, 

Nor fallen Power, that shuns the streets. 

Though Fate deny its glitt'ring store, 

Love's wealth is stiU the wealth to choose ; 

For all that gold can purchase more 
Are gauds, it is no Joss to lose ! 

Some beings, wheresoe'er they go. 
Find nought to please, or to exalt, — 

Their constant study but to show 
Perpetual modes of finding fault. 

While others, in the ceaseless round 
Of daily wants, and daily care. 

Can yet cuU flowers from common ground, 
And twice enjoy the joy they share ! 

Oh ! happy they who happy make^ — 

Who, blessing, still themselves are blest ! — 

Who something spare for others' sake, 
And strive, in all things, for the best ! 



oh! MARY, THOUGH IN RUSSET CLAD. 193 



OH! MARY, THOUGH IN RUSSET CLAD. 

Oh ! Mary, tboiigli in russet clad, 

I loved thee not for this Avorld's gear ; 
An honest heart was all I had, 

And that I gave thee, JNIary dear. 
I thought not for this fop, — this beau, — 

So true a love thou e'er would'st shght ; 
But woman's heart is all for show. 

And glitter is her soul's delight ! 
Oh ! Mary dear, — my Mary dear, — 

The world 's grown dreary to my sight. 

He seeks thee but because he sees 

To woo thee sends me from thy side ; 
Thou would'st have fewer charms to please, 

Did my despair not feed his pnde ! 
And couldst thou find no other walk. 

Than that where first our vows were said ? 
But woman 's won by boast and talk, — 

Her favor is a brittle thread ! 
Oh ! Mary dear, — my Mary dear, — 

Would thou wert true, — or I were dead ! 
13 



104 COME, NAME A GOOD FELLOW. 



COME, NAME A GOOD FELLOW. 

Come, name a good fellow. 

And drink to his health, — 
No matter his station. 

No matter his wealth ! 
If the heart be but noble, 

'Tis title enough: 
'Tis the heart makes the man, 

Though his fortune be rough ! 
Then name a good fellow. 

And to him we '11 drink ; 
And our lip with a blessing 

Shall hallow the brink ! 

Come, name a good fellow, — 

The vintage we quaff 
Seems merry, and mellow, 

And ready to laugh ! 
And what to enjoyment 

Fresh pleasure can lend ? — 
'Tis to toast the kind heart 

That to all is a friend ! 
Then name a good fellow, 

And to him we '11 drink ; 
And our lip with a blessing 

Shall hallow the brink ! 



THE RAIN WAS ABATING. 195 



THE RAIN WAS ABATING. 

The rain was abating, 

The storm seemed to wander 
In thunder, that distance 

Made solemn and grander; 
Yet the night had set in, 

And the mountains loomed dreary, 
As Mary looked forth 

With a spu'it less weary. 

She saAv not the river 

Its wide banks o'erflowing ; 
She recked not the torrents 

Like wild horses going ; 
She heard not the scream 

Of the eagle dark flying, — 
Nor the shriek of her lover, 

Far drowning, — and dying ! 

From his home, through the storm, 

']\lid the night, did he venture, 
To seek that loved door 

He must never more enter ! 
Oh ! woe for the hearts 

Which the storm- waters sever ; 
And woe for the hopes 

Which are lost, — and for ever ! 



196 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 



A NIGHT JOURNEY. 

Night her golden host is leading. 
To the wood the crow is speeding, 
Solemn lies the way, and lonely, 
Field, and lane, and forest only ! 
Not a hut for miles appearing. 
Ever toiling, — never nearing. 



Every step its legend telling ; 
Robbers lurking near the hedges, 
Murders hid 'neath river-sedges ! 
Many sounds, but not one cheery, — 
Even one's own foot creaks dreary. 

Gipsies down in lonesome hollows. 
Listening for each step that follows ; — 
Hist! — that bough, which snapt in parting. 
Distant bark of lurcher'starting. 
Stays the foot with timid feeling. 
Cautious o'er the dry leaves stealing. 

Fast the Night her starry legions 
Westward calls, to other regions ! 
See! — a hand, as of the Dawn, 
Sudden gleams, then swift withdrawn, — 
Like a maiden, shyly hiding. 
Blushing, loving, half-confiding ! 



THE ROAll OF THE TEMPEST. 19; 

Bed! — tlie curtain-silk adorning, 

Blinding out the golden morning, — 

Little recks your silken sleeper, 

'Midst deep cares, and night-roads deeper, 

How the light, which he despises, 

Like a hymn of glory rises ! 

Last, we reach the quiet village, 
View our cottage-field and tillage ; 
Though with limbs both faint and weary, 
We forget the midnight dreary, 
Cares and fears, how swift we lose them. 
With our children at our bosom ! 



THE ROAR OF THE TEMPEST. 

The roar of the tempest came down from the land, 

And white grew the face of the sea, 
And a cloud in the distance, as small as a hand. 

Seemed leading the storm on our lee : 
One moment the moon hke a beacon-light shone 

In the heaven's magnificent arc ; 
In the next, like a j^hantom, 'twas vanished and 
gone, 

And the sky and the ocean grcAv dark. 
But let the old vessel be tossed where she will, 

High or low, on her perilous way — 
Though the billows rage high, there is One higher 
still. 

Whom the lightning and tempest obey ! 



198 THE ROAR OF THE . TEMPf^ST. 

Strike the top-gallant masts — reef the mainsail, I 
cried, 

Let. the mizen yard swiftly be lowered ; 
One dash of the sea stove the bolts by my side. 

And the rain like a hurricane poured : 
On we rushed with the blast, it was fearful to think 

Of the rocks which our course might soon check ; 
For I felt that we stood on eternity's brink, 

And the ship might, ere morn, be a Avreck : 
Still, I thought, let the vessel be tossed where she 
will. 

High or low, on her perilous way — 
Though the billows rage high, there is One higher 
stUl, 

Whom, the lightning and tempest obey. 

Oh ! often we Looked to the desolate east. 

Still hoping the worst had now passed ; 
As little by little the dim light increased. 

And the dawn, the blest dawn, came at last. 
The swell of the billow lay hushed into sleep, 

The ocean scarce uttered a sigh ; 
But the foam of its anger lay white on the deep, 

And told of the madness gone by : 
So I cried let the vessel be tossed where she will. 

Our spirits shall gratefully say — 
Though the billows rage high, there is One higher 
still. 

Whom the lightning and tempc^^" obey. 



MORN ON THE MEADOW. 199 



MORN ON THE MEADOW. 

MoKX ou the meadow, and blossom and spray 

Glitter like gems in the dewllght of day, 

Grasses of emerald, tufted with gold ; 

Lilies, like Love, when too bashful and cold ; 

Wings of the wild bee, disturbing the nest 

Of the lark, that still broods o'er the song in its 

breast ; 
Flow'ret and butterfly wake as new born, 
For 'tis morn on the meadow, the dew-hghted 

Morn. 

Night on the fields and the Mower hath been, 
And the gems of the meadow no longer are seen ; 
The bright and the beautiful, faded and dead, 
Lie cold as the tears which the moonlight hath shed: 
The lark, like a spirit, still wanders the air, 
And all "nature is sad with her song of despair, 
All perished the blossom, the golden and green ; 
For 't is Night on the field — and the Mower hath 
been. 

Alas ! for the Beautiful ! Time hastens on, 

We look where they bloomed — but the lovely are 

gone. 
The Morn of existence hath fled like the wind — 
And the Evening comes on — and leaves sorrow 

behind. 



200 IT IS BUT A COTTAGE. 

The years of our being are lost like a breath, 

For the Mower hath been, and that Mower is 

Death ! 
But a Morn yet shall rise, and the dead be reborn, 
And a beauty eternal encircle that Morn. 



IT IS BUT A COTTAGE. 

It is but a cottage, but where is the heart 

That would love not its home, be it ever so small ? 
There 's a charm in that spot, which no words may 
impart. 
Where the birds and the roses seem sweetest of 
all. 

It is but a cottage, but still for a friend 

There 's a chair and whatever the table supplies. 

To the mind that's content with what fortune may 
send, 
Why a cot is a palace that monarchs might prize. 

I envy no statesman his honors and fame, 
The path of ambition is decked to ensnare, 

Tlie title most dear is a good honest name, 

And ambition may envy the man without care. 

It is but a cottage, a slight little place 

Scarce worthy the glance of a traveller's eyes ; 

But, oh ! with content, and a friend's smiling face, 
Why a cot is a palace that monarchs might prize. 



A EAIXBOW. 201 



A RAINBOW. 



A RAINBOW in the morning sky 

Hung like a "WTeatb of flowers ; 
Its glory caught each angel-eye 

Amidst those heavenly bowers : 
But still the lonely rainbow sighed, — 

Its spirit found no rest ; — 
Ah ! would I were a flower it cried, 

To bloom on some kind breast ! — 

A thousand turn their gaze above, 

But lo ! this sea of air 
Divides me far from human love, 

And all that others share : — 
The angels heard that song of grief. 

Disturbing heaven's repose. 
And spoke — and in a moment brief, 

The rainbow bloomed a rose ! 

A maiden soon espied the flower. 

And culled it, in its pride ; 
'Twas worn upon her breast an hour — 

And then 't w^s cast aside ! — 
Oh ! human love ! oh ! dream of bliss ! 

The dying flower did say, — 
If life's afiection be but this, 

'T is better to decay ! 



202 WE ne'er can know. 



WE NE'ER CAN KNOW. 

We ne'er can know what time may show, 

Nor what we lose when bent to roam ; 
But this 1 see — for love and me — 

'T were better far I 'd stayed at home. 
'T was by the stream, where lilies dream, 

'Mid music by the waters given, 
I saw a maid — or angel strayed — 

Just newly strayed — away from heaven ! 

Her eyes' soft hue had caught their blue 

From summer morns, Avhen skies are sweet ; 
Her golden hair, like sun-clouds there, 

Half wandered to her snowy feet ! 
And oh ! her lips, — the rose that dips 

Its first young buds in vernal dew 
Were pale beside their crimson pride, — 

Those lips, that might a world subdue. 

Alas for me, that this should be, 

Alas that I Avent out to roam ; 
My heart, 'tis clear, hath changed its sphere, — 

I'd better far have stayed at home. 
As sure as fate, with wings elate. 

She 's borne my heart to yonder sky ; 
And I may weep, and long watch keep, 

Bui see no angel passing hy ! 



COLD BLOWS THE BLAST. 203 

Oh ! should you meet, with snowy feet, 

A maiden fair, — or eyes of blue, 
And lips whose rose a magic throws. 

That thrills with love one's spirit through : 
Then, ere she flies to yonder skies. 

And seeks the Eden of her birth, 
Oh ! call me nigh, and we will try 

To keep one angel upon earth ! 



COLD BLOWS THE BLAST. 

Cold blows the blast, though the summer is nigh ; 

Cold gleam the stars, and all pale as in tears ; 
But colder this heart in my bosom doth lie, — 

This heart that should be in the spring of its 
years. 

Dark sets the storm over wild wood and field, 
The herds to their wind-shaken solitude flee ; 

But darker the woes in my bosom concealed. 
And wilder the fortune that waits upon me ! 

Sad as a wing-broken bird from its nest, 
I wander the night, and no shelter I see ; 

But the chill pining heart of the bird shall find rest, 
And sweet is the rest God will yet grant to me. 



204 HOME IS WHERE THERE 's ONE TO LOVE US. 



HOME IS WHERE THERE'S ONE TO 
LOVE US. 

Home 's not merely four square walls, 

Though with pictures hung and gilded ; 
Home is where Affection calls, — 

Filled with shrines the Heart hath builded I 
Home ! — go watch the faithful dove, 

Sailing 'neath the heaven above us ; 
Home is where there 's one to love ! 

Home is where there 's one to love us ! 

Home 's not merely roof and room, — 

It needs something to endear it ; 
Home is where the heart can bloom, — 

Where there's some kind lip to cheer It! 
What is home with none to meet, — 

None to welcome, none to greet us ? 
Home is sweet, — and only sweet, — 

Where there 's one we love to meet us ! 



Shakespeare's violets. 205 



SHAKESPEARE'S VIOLETS. 

" Like the sweet south 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving. odor." 

Sweet Violets, — the morning bids 

Ye ope your silken eyes, 
And shake the moisture from your lids 
That thus as sparkling lies 
As star of dew 
On heaven's blue, 
Or atom of the skies ! 

Unclose those velvet lids, and see 
Who comes by Avon's stream ; 
The light of whose divinity 
Enshrines ye like a dream ! 
'Tis Shakespeare dips 
Your purple lips 
In Inspiration's beam! 

Oh ! gifted flowers, — oh ! glorious hues. 

The golden morning saith, — 

Oh ! magic of the poet's muse, 

That triumphs over death, 

And keeps the mind 

Of all mankind 

Still listening to his breath ! — 



206 THE SHIP " EXTRAVAGANCE." 

The altars of great Jove are gone, — 

So earthly idols bend : 
The pyramids shall, one by one. 
Beneath the sands descend ; — 
But ye, sweet flowers. 
Shall Avreathe the hours 
Of man, — till Nature end ! 

Wake, Violets, ye virgin throng ! 

Awake, renown to claim ; — 
Thus married to eternal song, — 
Thus linked to Shakespeare's fame : 
The world shall bless 
That loveliness. 
Which shrines so dear a name ! 



THE SHIP "EXTRAVAGANCE." 

Oh ! Extravagance saileth in climes bright and 

warm, 
She is built for the sunhglit, and not for the storm ; 
Her anchor is gold, and her mainmast is pride, — 
Every sheet in the wind doth she dashingly ride ! 
But Content is a vessel not built for display. 
Though she 's ready and steady, come storm when it 

may ; 
So give us Content as life's channel we steer, — 
If our pilot be Caution, we 've little to fear ! 



THE GAY WORLD. 207 

Oil ! Extravagance saileth 'mid glitter and show, 
As if fortune's rich tide never ebbed in its flow ; 
But see her at night, when her gold-light is spent, 
When her anchor is lost, and her silken sails rent ; 
When the wave of destruction her shattered side 
drinks, [she sinks ! 

And the billows — ha! ha! — laugh and shout as 
No ! — give us Content, as life 's channel we steer, 
While our pilot is Caution, there 's little to fear. 



THE GAY WORLD. 

Pass on, thou World, — 
Follow the prosperous and the great. 
Nor sympathize with suffering fate ; 
Nor let one tear for others flow, — 
Pass on, — the poor and friendless know, 

'T is not for long ! 

Thy halls are bright 
With music, beauty, all that Wealth reveals ; 
Why shouldst thou pause to think what misery- 
feels,— 
With what sad terrors poverty must cope ; — 
Pass on, — the wretched look to heaven, and hope 

'T is not for long ! 

Thy jjarks and lawns 
Yield health, and bloom, and pleasure to the eyes 1 
Why seek the couch where haggard sickness lies. 



208 WHAT IS IT? 

In streets confined, — in alleys cliill and lorn, — 
Pass on, — there is God's rose for sorrow's thorn,- 
'T is not for Ions ! 



WHAT IS IT? 

It was seen in the dawn that encircled the earth, 
When the light of creation first leapt into birth ; 
It sprang 'mid the ocean, and laughed at its roar, 
As it dashed the first wave of the deep on the 

shore ; 
It thrilled through the spheres, which the arch- 
angels trod. 
In the hymns of devotion ascending to God ; 
In the roar of the whirlwind it circled the sky, 
And the forest king shook as he heard it rush by ; 
In wickedness rife, wheresoever ye tread, 
Yet 'tis never found out, for 'tis last in the head ; 
'T is fond, — and 'tis faithful in fondness, — and yet 
'T is inclined to deceit, — and for ever in debt ; 
Its kindness to lovers can scarce be requited. 
For, without it, no couple could e'er be united ! 
You may hide it, — divide it, — scarce leave it a 

name. 
Still it stands from a hundred conceiilments the 

same ; 
If a window be opened, 'tis there in a minute. 
And where there 's a garden, 't is sure to be in it ; 
'Tis the pilot of day, — first and last to defend, — 
And your bed lies unmade until it is your friend ! 



PRIDE. 209 

Tlioiigli seen in the distance, 'tis never seen near, 
Though on land, yet it rarely on earth doth appear 5 
Its changes are really surprising to some, 
For though powerful in diction, 'tis deaf, and 'tis 

dumb ; 
'T is the herald of danger, — in darkness 'tis hurl'd, — • 
The beffinning of death, and the end of the world ! 



PRIDE. 

Though Pride may show some nobleness, 

When Honor 's its ally, 
Yet there is such a thing on earth, 

As holding heads too high ! 
The sweetest bird builds near the ground, 

The loveliest flower springs low ; 
And we must stoop for happiness, 

If we its worth would know. 

Like water that encrusts the rose. 

Still hardening to its core. 
So Pride encases human hearts 

Until they feel no more. 
Shut up within themselves they live, 

And selfishly they end 
A hfe, that never kindness did 

To kindred, or to friend ! 

Whilst Virtue, like the dew of heaven, 
Upon the heart descends, 
14 



210 WHAT IS NOBLE. 

And draws its hidden sweetness out 
The more — as more it bends ! 

For there 's a strength in lowliness, 
Which nerves us to endure, — 

A heroism in distress, 

Which renders victory sure ! 

The humblest being born is gTeat, 

If true to his degree ; 
His virtue illustrates his state, 

Whate'er that state may be ! — 
Thus let us daily learn to love 

Simplicity and worth ; — 
For not the Eagle, but the Dove, 

Brought Peace unto the earth ! 



WHAT IS NOBLE? 

What is noble ? — to inherit 

Wealth, estate, and proud degree ? 
There must be some other merit 

Higher yet than these for me ! — 
Something greater far must enter 

Into life's majestic span, 
Fitted to create and centre 

True nobility in man. 

What is noble ? — 't is the finer 
Portion of our mind and heart, 



WHAT IS NOBLE. 211 

Linked to something still diviner 
Than mere language can impart : 

Ever prompting — ever seeing 
Some improvement yet to plan ; 

To uplift our fellow being, 

And, like man, to feel for Man ! 

What is noble ? — is the sabre 

Nobler than the humble spade ? — 
There 's a dignity in labor. 

Truer than ere Pomp arrayed ! 
He who seeks the Mind's improvement 

Aids the world, in aiding Mind ! 
Every great commanding movement 

Serves not one, but all mankind. 

O'er the Forge's heat and ashes, — 
O'er the Engine's iron head, — 

"Where the rapid shuttle flashes. 
And the spindle whirls its thread : 

There is labor, lowly tending- 
Each requirement of the hour, — 

There is genius, still extending 
Science, and its world of power ! 

'Mid the dust, and speed, and clamor, 

Of the loom-shed and the mill ; 
'Midst the qlink of wheel and hammer, 

Great results are groAving still ! 
Though too oft, by Fashion's creatures, 

Work and workers may be blamed, 
Commerce need not hide its features, 

Industry is not ashamed ! 



212 WORK. 

What is noble ? — that which places 

Truth in its enfranchised will,- 
Leaving steps, — hke angel traces, 

That mankind may follow still ! 
E'en though Scorn's malignant glances 

Prove him poorest of his clan. 
He 's the Noble — who advances 

Freedom, and the Cause of Man ! 



WORK. 

Attend, oh ! Man, 
Uplift the banner of thy kind, 
Advance the ministry of mind : 
The mountain height is free to climb, — 
Toil on, — Man's heritage is Time ! 

Toil on ! 

Work on and win : — 
Life without work is unenjoyed : 
The happiest are the best employed ! — 
Work moves and moulds the mightiest birth, 
And grasps the destinies of earth ! 

AVork on ! 

Work sows the seed ; ■ 
Even the rock may yield its flower, — 
No lot so hard, but human power, 
Exerted to one end and aim. 
May conquer fate, and capture fame ! 

Press on ! 



WORK. 213 

Press onward still ; 
In nature's centre lives the fire 
That slow, though sure, doth yet aspire ; 
Through fathoms deep of mould and clay, 
It splits the rocks that bar its way ! 

Press on ! 

If nature then 
Lay tame beneath her weight of earth, 
When would her hidden fire know birtii ? 
Thus Man, through granite Fate, must find 
The path, — the upward path, — of IMind ! 

Work on ! 

Pause not in fear ; 
Preach no desponding, servile view, — 
Whate'er thou will'st thy Will may do ! 
Strengthen each manly nerve to bend 
Truth's bow, and bid its shaft ascend ! 

Ton on ! 



Be firm of heart ; 
By fusion of unnumbered years 
A continent its vastness rears ! 
A drop, 'tis said, through flint will wear; 
Toil on, and nature's conquest share ! 

Toil on ! 

Within thyself 
Bright morn, and noon, and night succeed, - 
Power, feeling, passion, thought, and deed ; 



214 I CANNOT SAY THAT EVERY DAY. 

Harmonious beauty prompts thy breast, — 
Things angels love, and God hath blest ! 
Work on ! 

Work on and win ! 
Shall hght from nature's depths arise, 
And thou, whose mind can grasp the skies, 
Sit down with fate, and idly rail? — 
No — onward ! Let the Truth prevail ! 
» Work on ! 



I CANNOT SAY THAT EVERY DAY. 

I CANNOT say that every day 

Shall be as free from care and woe ; 
Of this be sure, however poor, 

I '11 do my best to make them so ! 
And if a moment of distress 

Should mar the bliss which Heaven hath sent, 
Aifection still shall make it less. 

And lighten what it can't prevent. 

I cannot vow that all, as now. 

Shall speak, and smile, and bloom around ; 
Existence here, without a tear. 

No living creature yet hath found : 
I cannot say thou shalt not weep. 

For Life through many a storm must steer ; 
But Sorrow's tooth is far less deep. 

When those who love us best are near. 



THE WOOD RANGERS. 215 



THE WOOD RANGERS. 

Oh ! gaily in the greenwood 

We Rangers spend the hours; 
Our castle is the chestnut brave, 

Our couch the golden flowers : 
The forest spreads around us 

Its wild and leafy lair, 
We know each branch and bramble, 

As they our children were : 
No king had ever subjects 

More faithful than our own, 
For every heart is firm as oak, 

That guards his greenwood throne/ 
Hurrah ! 
Thus gaily in the olden spot, we live without a 

sorrow. 
To-day we gain a prize — if not, why better luck 
to-morrow. 

When storms are bursting o'er us. 

And boughs like billows sweep, 
We join the merry chorus, 

And fill the flagon deep. 
The morning hears our rifles 

Within the hollow glen, 
And heavy is the golden prize 

Which jjlads our dauntless men : 



216 WHY SHOULD THY VOICE. 

The stag that leapt at sunrise 

Provides whereon to dine, 
• And purple in the goblet 

Springs up the laughing wine. 
Hurrah ! 
Thus gaily in the olden spot we live without a 

sorrow, 
To-day we gain a prize — if not, why better luck 
to-morrow. 



WHY SHOULD THY VOICE. 

Why should thy voice still follow me 

When I am all alone ; 
Why should I blush as if thy gaze 

Were still upon me thrown ? 
Why think of thee with tenderness, 

I never may divulge ; 
Why love thee with a constancy 

'T is madness to indulge ? 

A thousand vague, deceitful dreams, 

I summon to my aid ; 
One moment Hope seems perfect light, 

The next 't is but a shade : 
And then I vow to banish thee — 

To think of thee no more ; 
But, ah ! each vain attempt but leaves 

Thee dearer than before. 



A HOLLOW AND A WHISTLING WIND. 217 



A HOLLOW AND A WHISTLING WIND. 

A HOLLOW and a whistling wind 

Across the mountain blows, 
The heavy vapor hangs unmoved 

Above the lingering snows : 
A glare is in the eastern sky, 

A dull and reddish glare, 
The dawning of a wintry day, 

Behind the forest bare ! 

A signal on the narrow path 

That skirts the misty hill, 
A voice beneath the castle-wall, — 

But the wind is never still : 
And lo, from out the postern-gate 

A maiden ventures slow ; 
Her step as soft as moonhght steals 

Across the silent snow ! 

One issued from the postern-gate. 

But two speed down the land 
Between the river and the rock. 

Where tower and chapel stand : 
All pale they reach the gothic door — 

It opens to their touch ; 
The vow is said — the rite is read — • 

They 're one — who love so much ! 



218 NIGHT AND SILENCE. 

But liark ! a trampling sound Is heard 

Above the north wind drear ; 
A shout, a crash, and in men dash 

With torch, and sword, and spear ! 
In vain the maiden chngs to save, 

Too swift their sharp swords meet; 
A brother's blade her love hath laid 

A corpse beside her feet ! 



NIGHT AND SILENCE. 

Was it something in the heavens — 

Something in the starry air ? 
Never looked the knight so noble, 

Never seemed the maid so fair ; 
As she sat, and he leant by her, 

Whisp'ring sweet some poet's lay 
Are we nearer unto Heaven 

In the night than in the day ? 

Silence slumbered, like a river, 

Which, if but a leaflet crossed, 
Dimpled, circled, widening ever, 

Till in very fineness lost ! 
Is a tenderer spirit given 

To that hour of mild decay ? 
Are we nearer unto Heaven 

In the niaht than in the day ? 



THE HURRICANE. 219 

Is some feeling of devotion 

Linked to Silence from its birth ? 
Springs it from that deep emotion 

Which is ever mute on earth ? 
May it, like an angel passing 

O'er our dark and devious way, 
Lead us nearer unto Heaven 

In the night than in the day ? 



THE HURRICANE. 

Ix the west a line of silver 

Seemed from darkness to emerge, 
Like the gleaming sword of Azrael, 

On the dim horizon's verge : 
Deep and deeper frowned the darkness, 

AVhiter grew that hne of fear : 
All that gazed knew well the omen, — 

Knew the Hurricane was near ! 

Bowsprit high the billovrs mounted, 

E'en the firmest held their breath ; 
Thundering onward swept the ocean, 

With a darkness grim as death : 
Shrouds and stays were rent asunder, 

Masts and spars were snapped in twain, 
Black'ning downwards rushed the heavens 

Roaring upwards rolled the main. 



220 THE WOODBINE AND THE WILD ROSE. 

O'er her bows the foremast sphntered, 

Blocks and cordage strewed the air ; 
Headlong down the vessel foundered — 

All was shrieking and despair ! 
'Mid a wild and whirling chaos, 

All above me and around, — 
Struggling arms and gasping faces, 

And the drowning, and the drowned ! 



THE WOODBINE AND THE WILD ROSE. 

The woodbine and the wild rose 

Enlace their fragrant charms, 
The linnet sings within them, 

Like Love in Beauty's arms ! 
Like Love in Beauty's arms, and sweet 

It warbles notes within ; 
A song 't would evermore repeat, 

And enchng, still begin ! 

The freshness of the wild rose 

Adorns my own dear girl ; 
Like tendrils of the woodbine 

Her golden ringlets curl : 
Her golden ringlets curl, and sweet 

Affection sings within 
A song 'twould evermore repeat, 

And ending, still begin ! 



BEFORE MY LIP. 221 

Oh ! would that life were ever 

Embowered in love and truth, 
No wintry age to sever 

The golden round of youth ! 
The golden round of youth, that sweet 

Its circling course should win, 
Still ever turning to repeat ; 

Still ending, to begin. 



BEFORE MY LIP. 

Before my lip could words conmiand, 

I saw thy form depart. 
And I controlled, with trembling hand. 

The madness of my heart : 
\Vhen next our glances met I spoke. 

And thou received'st my vow ; 
Hope then, like heaven's pure radiance broke 

Alas ! where is it now ! 

Away from sylvan walks and streams. 

That breathed of love and youth, 
Thou dwelt 'midst fashion's tinsel-beams, 

Forgetful of thy truth ! 
Once more I saw, 'neath heaven's cope, 

That face I deemed so fair ; 
But, ah ! so changed, so cold — that Hope 

Thrilled through me like Despair. 



222 THE SUN OF LIFE. 

I lieard thy heart was false — thy vow 

To other ears was sighed ; 
I heard — and spurned the thought — but now 

I would that 1 had died ! 
For what is hfe — when lost the dower 

That makes existence bliss ? 
Ah, me ! the madness of that hour, 

The misery of this ! 



THE SUN OF LIFE. 

Fortune is the sun of hfe, 

All is warm and bright then ; 
Every step with pleasure rife, 

Time is all delight then ! — 
Love is glancing 'neath its ray, 

All is fair and fond then ; 
Life is just a summer day — 

Not a care beyond then ! 

Poverty 's the night of life. 

All is dark and drear then ; 
Every step with sorrow rife, 

Every day's a fear then ! — 
Friendship, like a star above, 

Glimmers high and cold then : 
Love — alas ! the hopes of love — 

Scorned, as soon as told then ! 



THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. 223 



THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. 

Within tlie span of human siglit 

How oft, while clouds of ether float, 
The sun will shed its glorious light 

On distant hills and meads remote : 
While objects nearer to his beam 

See shade on darker shade increased ; 
Thus, those who nearest fortune seem 

May oftentimes enjoy it least. 

The few our feelings would select 

As happiest on the face of earth, 
Have trials which we ne'er suspect, 

And griefs unknown to humble birth. 
The fortunate are often those 

We least should fortunate esteem, 
We soon should find, whate'er we chose, 

Things are not always what they seem. 



SIGNS. 

When the sky is all crimson at eve, 
'T is a sign of fair morning, my dear, 

When the cheek is all red, I beheve, 
'T is a sign there is somebody near ! 



224 THE NIGHT COMES COLD. 

Somebody maids should not seek, 
Somebody dearer tlian day ; 

When roses bloom warm on the cheek, 
There is somebody not far away. 

When the gold of the west is all gone, 

'T is a sign that the day 's going too ; 
Gold lost^ is a sign coming on 

That somebody 's going to rue ! 
Somebody maids should decHne, 

If they wish earthly cares to be few, 
When the gold is all gone 'tis a sign 

Very often that Love 's going too ! 



THE NIGHT COMES COLD. 

The night comes cold and colder down. 

The woodlark trembling feels the dew ; 
All nature seems to freeze and frown. 

Whilst by-gone sorrows spring anew ; 
The clouds in sullen grandeur part 

And keenly course the stormy air; 
But, oh ! the winter of the heart 

It is the keenest yet to bear ! 

No matter what the season be, 
If all within be warm and bright; 

'T is not the bitter cloud we see. 

But clouds within that deepen night : 



COME, LET ME TAKE THY HAND IN MINE. 225 

The griefs that from the darkness start, 
To mourn the loss no tears repair : 

Alas ! the evening of the heart — 
It is the darkest yet to bear. 



COME, LET ME TAKE THY HAND IN 
MINE. 

Come, let me take thy hand in mine, 

And it shall be a token, 
That I 'm thy friend, till life shall end, 

And this worn heart be broken : 
I ask not hope — too well I know 

Such hope can ne'er be given ; 
But I may love thee here below, 

As angels love in heaven. 

Nay, never turn thy face away, 

Nor hide that falHng tear : 
It is no sorrow to decay — 

When life 's no longer dear ! 
Then let me take thy hand in mine. 

For all too soon we sever ; 
My life is like that tear of thine — 

Scarce seen — ere lost for ever. 
15 



22G TEARS OF GLADNESS. 



TEARS OF GLADNESS. 

They tell me he is sure to come, 

The loved, that more than life I prize ; 
They tell me he is near his home — 

And aching gladness blinds mine eyes : 
My heart is full of joy and prayer, 

Of earth and heaven — I could embrace, 
And kiss with love the very air : — 

Oh ! shall I ever see his face ? 

'Twas but a word that sent him hence, 

A word too coldly, proudly, said ; 
And I have suffered pain intense — 

And often wished my heart were dead : 
But all my prayers have not been vain, — 

He comes, and safely, to the shore ! 
Oh ! shall I hear that voice again — 

That voice I thouo;ht to hear no more ! 



A WIFE'S LAST CARE. 

Another day will pass away, 

Another sun in beaut}' rise ; 
But ere its light shall greet thy sight. 

Death will have closed thy mother's eyes; 



A WIFE'S LAST CARE. 22T 

And thou wilt weep to know tliat sleep 

Is set, and sealed for evermore ; 
Yet think, 'inid all the tears that fall, 

Life's pangs, — as well as joys, — are o'er. 

And when the last sad dues are past, 

And said, and sung, the service brief, 
Oh ! look to him whose eyes are dim. 

And comfort Jwn 'mid all his grief 
With tender care his home prepare, — 

No daily act neglected leave ; 
And put away each thing, I pray, 

Wliich, seeing, might but make him grieve. 

And ever seek, ere he can speak, 

To set all things in comfort round : 
However poor, content is sure, 

Where neatness, — kindness, — love, — are 
found ! 
He likes to see the fire burn free, — 

A clear, warm, welcome, kindly ray ; 
Oh ! think of this, and let him miss 

Thy mother little as he mag ! 

And mind the hour, — for time's a dower 

Prized often only when 'tis gone ; 
Ne'er be too late, nor let him wait, — 

Sharp labor brings sharp hunger on ! 
And oh ! my child, be ever mild. 

However hasty he may be ; 
And God shall know how much I owe. 

In these mv last — last — hours to thee ! 



228 PERSEVERANCE. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

Take the spade of Perseverance ; 

Dig the field of Proj^ress wide : 
Every bar to true instruction 

Cany out and cast aside ; 
Every stubborn weed of Error, 

Every seed that hurts the soil, 
Tares, whose very growth is terror — 

Dig them out, whate'er the toil ! 

Give the stream of Education 

Broader channel, bolder force ; 
Hurl the stones of Persecution 

Out where'er they block its course ; 
Seek for strength in self-exertion ; 

Work, and still have faith to wait ; 
Close the crooked gate to fortune ; 

Make the road to honor straight! 

Men are agents for the Future ! 

As they work, so ages win 
Either harvest of advancement, 

Or the product of their sin ! 
Follow out true cultivation, — 

AViden Education's plan ; 
From the majesty of Nature 

Teach the majesty of Man ! 



KINDNESS. 229 



KINDNESS. 

Oh ! if kindness sought one 

When her hand were needed, 
Low as fate had brought one, 

Misery might be heeded ! 
But, in his elateness, 

Proud of worldly praises, 
Man, to grasp at greatness, 

Tramples man, — not raises ! 

With life's units rarely 

Man true progress classes ; 
Kindness grants he sparely. 

Preaching as he passes ! 
Though, would one befriend one^ 

All might be befriended ; 
K but 07ie would mend one, 

All might be amended ! 

Would man's language knew 

Less of mere profession, — 
Glad his part to do 

According to possession ! 
For, while thousands wait. 

With no friend to heed them, 
Little helps are great 

To the hearts that need them. 



230 GOD MADE THE HEART. 



GOD MADE THE HEART. 

God made the heart with every chord 

Responsive to his love ; 
To cheer, to bless, and keep his word — 

Like angel hearts above ! 

'Twas made to feel for others' woe. 

Life's sorrows to beguile ; 
To soothe the tears the wretched know. 

And bid the mourner smile. 

'Twas made to be the charm of earth, 

Where all affections meet ; 
Where every human bhss hath birth, 

And every hope is sweet. 

'Twas formed the weak and sad to aid. 

To bid misfortune flee ; 
If Man ne'er marred what God had made, 

How heavenly earth would be ! 



LUTE AND TAMBOURINE. 

Dancing on the village green 
To the lute and tambourine, 



LUTE A2S.D TAMBOUKINE. 231 

"WTillst, above, the starry crowds 
From their citadel of clouds 
Gaze upon the merry scene, 
Dancers, lute, and tambourine. 

Oh ! what spirit of the air 
Springs so light, or gay, or fair. 
As the heart of youth and maid 
Tripping through the moonlight glade ? 
Oh ! to be as I have been. 
Dancing to the tambourine ! 

Rank, thou hast not aught so bright — 
Wealth, thy feet are not so Ught. 
Fame — oh ! Fame, doth life forego 
For a life it ne'er shall know : 
Would that they could all be seen 
Dancing to the tambourine. 

I would have all Nature glad. 
Nothing silent — nothing sad ; 
I would have the world to be 
Children of one family : 
Every village have its green. 
Dancers, lute, and tambourine. 



232 THOUGH YE LIVE WITH SOME FOR YEARS. 



THOUGH YE LIVE WITH SOME FOR 
YEARS. 

Though ye live with some for years, 

Rarely from their presence part — 
Though you share their smiles and tears, 

Yet you'll never share their heart ! 
While, with others, but an hour 

Serves the warmer soul to show ; 
And their feelings spring to flower, 

Sweet as opening roses blow ! 

Little may the difference seem 

Unto those whose natures keep 
Ever in a selfish dream ; — 

But the craving heart must weep ! 
Longing to be understood, 

Seeking to be known, in vain : 
Many, whom the world calls good. 

Keep the heart in constant pain ! 



FAME. 

Some, with no place Avhile they're living, 
Take a proud place when life ends ; 

Some with no friend — kind and giving — 
Wlien they die have worlds of friends : 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 233 

Oh ! the longing — oh ! the seeking — 
For that love which never came ; 

Oh ! the weary heart, heart breaking 
For that mocking wreath of fame ! 



I could weep for those I knew not, 

Saw not, ne'er on earth shall see ; 
I could blush for those that threw not 

Some balm o'er their misery ; 
They whose genius, hke a glory. 

Scattered hght Avhere'er it came : 
Woe, alas, the poet's story ! 

Woe the heart betrayed to fame ! 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Hath one young, impassioned, breast, 

Ever realized its dream, — 
Ever found that vision blest 

Which was once its treasured theme ? 
jjo ! — 'neath all that life beguiles. 

Many a thorn of sorrow sleeps ; 
Hope, that with the morning smiles. 

Ere the evening cometh, weeps 1 

Who of all the pictured hours, 

Promised bloom, and bliss in store, 

Ever found but faded flowers, — 

Reached but when the charm was o'er ? 



234 WHEN beauty's KUttE. 

He who hopes may look for tears, ■ 
He who loves see love depart, — 

He who builds on future years, 
Builds himself an aching heart ! 



WHEN BEAUTY'S KOSE. 

When beauty's rose is virtue's flower, — 

When beauty's pride is honor's glow, 
I 'd take that rose for better dower 

Than riches merely can bestow ; 
But when that rose is born to bloom, 

In lieu of roses born of truth, — 
When vain conceit takes up the room 

Of flowers that live beyond our youth 
Then give me, love, a plainer face. 

And I will ne'er adore it less. 
If but the heart's enchanting grace, 

The heart's warm feeling it express ! 

It is not blooming cheeks alone, 

Nor sunny lips, nor sparkling eyes. 
Nor brow that seemeth beauty's throne. 

Wherein love's truest witchery lies ! 
There is a charm beyond tlie power 

Of rose or lily to excel, — 
A charm that glads a summer hour. 

And gilds a wintry hour as well ! 
So give me, love, a plainer face, 

And I will ne'er adore it less, 



ALADDIN S LAMP EXCHANGED. 

If but the heart's enchanting grace, 
The heart's warm feeling it express. 



ALADDIN'S WIFE, OR ALADDIN'S 
LAMP EXCHANGED. 

The wondrous lamp stood rayless near, 

No glittering gem revealed it ; 
No token of its magic sphere, — 

Its power — the rust concealed it ! 

A voice came down the Eastern fold, 

A foot at midnight ranged it ; 
" New lamps for old ! New lamps for old ! ' 

Aladdin's wife exchanged it ! 

Ah ! such the wisdom here on earth. 

The trial we 're prepared for ; 
It is the show, and not the worth, — 

The tinsel 's all that 's cared for ! 

How did the New the old surpass ! 

It gleamed more gay than any ; 
What though the gleam was only brass, — 

Brass stands for Gold with many ! 

Thus fortune oft is cast aside 

Because its looks deceive us ; 
Truth comes not always like a bride, 

But oft with words that grieve us ! 



236 WORDS. 

Yet such the wisdom here on earth, 
The trial we 're prepared for ; 

It is the show and not the worth, — 
The tinsel's all that's cared for ! 



WORDS. 

If words could satisfy the heart, 

The heart might find less care ; 
But words, like summer birds, depart, 

And leave but empty air. 
The heart, a pilgrim upon earth, 

Finds often, when it needs. 
That words are of as little worth 

As just so many weeds. 

A little said, — and truly said, — 

Can deeper joy impart 
Than hosts of words, which reach the head, 

But never touch the heart. 
The voice that wins its sunny way, 

A lonely home to cheer. 
Hath oft the fewest words to say ; 

But, oh ! those few, — how dear ! 

If words could satisfy the breast, 

The world might hold a feast ; 
But Avords, — when summoned to the test, — 

Oft satisfy the least ! 



FALSE AS WATER. 237 

Like plants that make a gaudy show, 

All blossom to the root ; 
But whose poor nature cannot grow 

One particle of fruit ! 



FALSE AS WATER. 

Flow on, thou faithless stream, 
That maketh all things seem 

As deep within thy heart ; 
Fern, bell, and drooping tree, 
Behold themselves in thee ; 

And yet thou canst depart. 
Alas ! thy little span 
But mimics faithless man ! 

Like thee, too, he can stray : 
Like thee a charm reveal — 
Reflect — but never feel — 

And singing pass away. 

Flow on ! thou canst not touch 
The wounded heart so much 

As man's inconstant breath ; 
Thy false tongue ne'er deceives 
Like his, who loves, and leaves ; 

Takes life, and brings us death ! 
What though within thy face 
Our very looks we trace ; 



238 THE WAYWARD ONE. 

Thy falsehood 's not so deep 
As his, whose lips can sigh, 
Yet leave the heart to die, — 

And, till it dies, to weep ! 



THE WAYWARD ONE. 

So modest her advances, 

Such softness in her lip and eye. 
You 'd think such angel glances 

Were borrowed from the saints on high ! 
'Tis sweeter thus believing, 

Than doubting, — though they say that she 
Deliciously deceiving, 

Can never long with Love agree ! 

At morn you'd fancy really 

That maiden's heart is mine indeed ; 
And speak of wedlock cheerly, — 

But lesser haste the better speed ! 
You buy the ring quite boldly. 

And with it to her presence fly : 
She turns aside quite coldly. 

And curtseys you a brief " Good-by ! " 

May wrinkles seize the beauty. 

The sweet, bewitching, sparkling jade. 

Who first makes love a duty, 

Then laughs awav the vows she made ! 



THE WHEREWITHAL. 239 

Oil ! make her less a cliarmer, 

Dear Nature, let her less excel ; 
Or make her bosom warmer 

To one who loves her but too well ! 



THE WHEREWITHAL. 

A MAN may have wisdom and worth, 

And humor and wit at his call, 
But what do these matter on earth 

If he has not the whercAvithal ? 
His home may be circled with friends. 

If he only can keep up the ball ; 
But friendship soon changes and ends 

If he has not the wherewithal. 
Then seek for the wherewithal — 

Make sure of the wherewithal, 
For pleasure, like friendship, soon ends. 

If you have not the wherewithal. 

The purse is the dial, whose face 

Shows best where the sunlight doth fall ; 
He always is first in the race, 

Who is first with the wherewithal ! 
Some say that the high can be mean — 

Some hint that the great can be small ; 
But trifles like these are not seen. 

If blessed with the wherewithal I 



240 FAITH. 

Then seek for the wherewithal — 
Make sure of the wherewithal, 

For pleasure, like friendship, soon ends, 
If short of the wherewithal. 

Love smiles on the casement that shows 

A picture within to enthrall : 
When gold 's in the heart of the rose, 

There 's love in the wherewithal ! 
Yes, men may have wisdom and worth, 

And humor and wit at their call, 
But what do these matter on earth 

If they have not the wherewithal ! 
Then seek for the wherewithal — 

Make sure of the wherewithal. 
For pleasure, like friendship, soon ends, 

If short of the wherewithal ! 



FAITH. 

From the anguish of the spirit 

Came a moan, — 
A moan of utter dreariness, 
A sigh of inward weariness. 

Of confidence o'erthrown ! 
" When — when shall man have rest ? " it cried ; 
And through the dark on every side, 
A voice, half heard, half lost, replied, 

In syllables sublime — 



241 



*' When thy Faith hath wings to waft her, — 

Light to climb, 
Rest shall meet thy soul Hereafter ! — 

Wait thy time ! " 

From the giant head of Alps, 
Bearded by the avalanche, 
Thousands winters yet shall blanch, 

Came a moan ; 
And the torrents leapt aside. 
As above them still repHed, 

High in solitude sublime, 
" Rest is in the Great Hereafter ! 

Wait thy time ! " 

From the broad Atlantic ocean. 
With an everlasting motion, 

As in pain, 
Swept that wandering voice, distrest, — 
" When — oh I when — shall Man have rest ? 
And above the raging blast. 
That, mid clouds, the billows cast, 

Rose a sti'ain, 
Higher than the storm could climb, — 
" Rest is for the Great Hereafter, 

Wait thy time ! " 

Then the darkness stept aside. 

And the glory multiplied, 
As an avenue of hght 
Showed an angel to the sight : 
16 



242 THE SWEETEST OF ALL. 

Slowly to tlie spirit, chained 
Unto sorrow, that complained, — 

She approached — and as she trod, 

Comfort, like a breath of God, 

Fell npon that spirit bent, 

In its own abandonment ; 
And those eyes, with sudden grace. 
Turned upon that angel-face 

With a perfect hope, and said, 

" Blessed be the Holy One ! 

Blessed, — may His will be done." 

And before the words were goi;e 
Suddenly the angel fled ; — 
But within that heart renewed, 

Like a chime, 
Kang the melody sublime, — 
" When thy Faith hath wings to waft her, - 

Light to climb, 
Rest shall meet thy soul Hereafter ! — 

Wait thy time." 



THE SWEETEST OF ALL. 

Oh ! sweet comes the grace of the young dewy 
morning. 
As queen-like she steps from her cloud pillared 
hall; 
And lovely the rose-bud its wild home adorning, 
But Love's modest bloom is the sweetest of all. 



I CANXOT PRETEND TO SAY. 243 

And sweet is tlie glimpse of the moon o'er the ocean, 
Whose rays, like a blessing, upon our path fall ; 

But the Kght that awakens the heart's first emotion, 
Oh ! Love's stolen glance is the sweetest of all. 

There 's music in Nature, like deeper reveahngs 
Of memories passed which her voice would recall , 

There are tones that like angels may visit our 
feeHngs, 
But Love's whispered word is the sweetest of alL 



I CANNOT PRETEND TO SAY. 

I CANiS'OT pretend to say, I 'm sure, — 

I cannot pretend to say ; 
For absence and silence are hard to endure. 

And love may grow colder each day : 
There's many a biM that ne'er comes to a flower, 

And many a sweet must decay ; 
But for loving thee, ever^ as 1 do this hour — 

I cannot pretend to say — 
I 'm sure — 

I cannot pretend to say. 

There 's no knowing what may transpire in a year ; 

And thou wilt be three years away ! 
And the wealth of thy love may be scattered, I 
fear. 

As the bloom we saw falling to-day ! 



244 childhood's heart. 

There 's many a flower brings no fruit to the bough, 

And many a heart mourns delay, — 
So, for loving thee, ever, as I love thee now, 

I cannot pretend to say — 
I 'm sure — 

I cannot pretend to say. 



CHILDHOOD'S HEART. 

Childhood's heart its grief displayeth. 
Like a shade at morning cast, 

Every moment it decayeth ; 
In an hour, or two, 't is past ! 

But the grief of Age still lieth 
Like the shade of closing day — 

Lengthening — deepening — till it dieth 



Youthful friendship quickly bloometh, 

Quickly fades, and blooms again ; — 
But the friends which Age entombeth, 

Age shall seek, and mourn in vain. 
Firmly Manhood's foot is planted, 

Full of independent glow ; — 
Age soon finds his room is wanted : 

Blest are they who soonest go ! 



BIRD AND mvEit. 245 



BIRD AND RIVER. 

'T IS the moonlight sleeping 
On the mountain height, 

Vale and river steeping 
In her own pale light ; 

Nature bends, as hstening. 
To the vesper hour ; 

Whilst the dew is ghstening 
O'er each dreaming flower: 

Stealing soft and slowly- 
Through the moonlight vale, 

Hark ! like something holy 
Sino;s the nightingale. 

Sounds of waters gliding 

To the ear are given, 
Like an anthem, guiding 

Heart and soul to heaven. 
Hark, to bird and river, 

'Neath the moonlight gleam ; 
One could list for ever 

To so sweet a theme : 
Stealing soft and slowly 

Through the slumbering vale ; 
While, like something holy, 

Sinirs the nishtinsrale. 



246 THE LOVJnSTG HEART. 



THE LOVING HEART. 

Loving heart, still Hope enfolding ; 
Holy hope the Future holding ; 
Golden future, still repeating 
Proroise of eternal meeting ; 
Still to-morrow's pleasures summing, 
Never seen — yet ever coming ! 

Breaking heart, thy tears concealing. 
Sacred tears Hfe's sorrow healing ; 
Weary Hfe for ever trying 
Still to smile, 'mid hourly sigliing ; 
What is that within thee, keeping 
All this love 'midst all this weeping V 



IF THIS WORLD WE LNHABIT. 

If this world we inhabit — this waking and sleep- 

Were really life's sum, its beginning and end. 
Existence itself would be scarcely worth keeping, 

And all little worth that to nothing must tend. 
But God's living scripture lies star- writ before us ; 

There 's comfort 'mid sorrow — as many may find : 
While the wing of Eternity 's hovering o'er us — 

Let 's bear with misfortune — and still never 
mind! 



THE FAIRY OF THE MOONBEAM. 247 

If life were absorbed in receiving and paying, 

In getting and spending — and thus to the close ; 
J£ Faith never came its bright future displaying, — 

One could weep life away, and be glad to repose. 
But the spirit of Faith, like an angel ascending, 

The shadow of years, like a dream, leaves be- 
hind ; 
Life's troubles, and trials, and tears, have an ending, 

'T is but for a time — never mind — never mind ! 



THE FAIRY OF THE MOONBEAM. 

The fairy of the Moonbeam, 

No cloud her pleasure mars ; 
She dwells within a palace 

All roofed with silver stars : 
Around her are the mystic gates 

That lead to Eden's flowers : 
The fairy of the Moonbeam, 

Oh ! would her world were ours ! 

When earth in slumber dreameth, 

She dances o'er the tide ; 
O'er foam and ripple beameth 

In beauty like a bride : 
She glideth through the vaUeys, 

She sleepeth 'mid the bowers, 
Her hfe 's a Hfe of gladness. 

Oh ! would such life were ours ! 



248 THE VOICE OF THE MORNING. 

> 

A portion tlius of beauty, 

A presence and a grace 
Which makes delight a duty 

And gladdens Nature's face > 
A charm to chase the darkness, 

To change the cloud that lowers 
The fairy of the Moonbeam, 

Oh ! would her sift were ours ! 



THE VOICE OF THE MORNING. 

The voice of the morning is calling to childhood, 

From streamlet, and valley, and mountain it calls, 
And Mary, the loveliest nymph of the wild wood, 

Is crossing the brook where the mill water falls. 
Oh ! lovely is Mary, her face like a vision 

Once seen leaves a charm that will ever endure ; 
From her glance and her smile there beams some- 
thing elysian : 

She has but one failing — sweet Mary is poor. 

Her bosom is white as the hawthorn, and sweeter. 

Her form light and lovesome, as maidens should 
be; 
Her foot like a fairy's — yet softer and fleeter — 

Oh ! Mary, the morn hath no lily like thee. 
But narrow and low hangs the roof of her dwelling, 

Her home it is humble, her birth is obscure ; 
And though in all beauty and sweetness excelhng, 

She wanders neglected — for Mary is poor. 



EACH MAY SPEAK OF THE WORLD. 249 

Yet, oh ! to her heart mother Nature hath given 

The kindest affections that mortal can know ; 
She loves every star that sheds radiance in heaven, 

She worships the flowers as God's image below. 
Ah ! sad 't is to think that a being resembling 

The fairest in beauty, such lot should endure, 
But the dews that like tears on the lihes are trem- 
bling. 

Are types but of Mary — for Mary is poor. 



EACH MAY SPEAK OF THE WORLD. 

Each may speak of the world as he finds it, 

I 've nothing as yet to deplore ; 
I've vexation enough, but who minds it? — 

Too many on earth have had more ! 
I've friends that from boyhood have cheered me 

AVhenever from happiness hurled ; 
True hearts that to life have endeared me — 

Then what should I say 'gainst the world ? 

Each may speak of the world as he sees it, 

To all it can ne'er be the same ; 
I've tried pretty often to please it, 

And if it 's not pleased — who 's to blame V 
Though my bark of existence hath often 

From fortune's high channel been hurled, 
Thank God, there was one left to soften 

The sorrows I 've found in the world. 



250 TRIFLES. 



TRIFLES. 



Trifles even are divine, 

If affection wreathe them round; 
As the constant eglantine 

Twines its blossoms o'er the ground 
As o'er stone and rock it flings 

Grace and bloom in every part, 
So doth Love o'er trifling things 

Wreathe the tendrils of the heart. 

As those lights, which round the sun 

Dark and cold and distant fall, 
Snatch a glory as they run 

From that orb which quickens all — 
So the dark and cold of earth. 

Soon as Love illumes their sphere, 
Snatch a ray of heavenly birth — 

Love can every thing endear ! 



THOUGH THE LEAVES OF THE ROSE. 

Though the leaves of the rose 

Should decline one by one, 
Love, you say, will cling to them — 

Still cherish them on : 



COME, TELL ME THY SORROW. 251 

But unchanged 'midst decay, 

If true love should appear, 
I am sorry to say 

There 's a deal not sincere ! 
A deal not sincere ! 

When the bloom of the rose 

Nothing more can renew, 
The love that adored 

Can abandon it too ! 
The sweet shrine of self 

Is the object we view ; 
If true love be constant — 

Where find ye the true ? 
Where find ye the true ? 



COME, TELL ME THY SORROW. 

Come, tell me thy sorrow, and if I can aid thee. 

My heart and my purse are both thine to the end'; 
If not, seek support from the being that made 
thee. 
But mourn not as if without solace, my friend. 
Though the sky be now dark, there is hope for to- 
morrow, 
A sunlight to come, which the morn may restore ; 
Then cheer ! bid thy soul spring immortal o'er 
sorrow. 
Thou hast one friend at least, if thou canst not 
find more. 



252 THE SUN THAT WARMS. 

Ne'er fancy thine own disappointments are greater 

Than theirs who seem right whatsoever they do ; 
JVIisfortune finds all either sooner or later ; 

Life's mourners are many — the mirthful are few. 
Then vex not thy spirit with fears and surmises, 

But wrestle with care, and thy firmness restore ; 
There 's a star for thee yet, and, till brightly it rises, 

Thou hast one friend at least, if thou canst not 
find more. 



THE SUN THAT WARMS. 

The Sun that warms the fading flower, 

May cheer, not change, its doom; 
May stay its fate for one brief hour, 

But ne'er restore its bloom ! 
So when the withered heart receives 

The light of love too late, 
Its charm awhile the wreck relieves, 

But cannot change its fate ! 

That heart, if yesterday caressed. 

Perchance had 'scaped decay ! 
That smile, which yesterday had blest, 

Comes all in vain to-day ! 
Then, oh ! Love's vow of honor keep — 

Nor let Affection wait ; 
For vain repentance — vain to weep, 

When kindness comes too late ! 



MORN OF LOVE. ' 253 



A MOKN OF LOVE. 

The sun arose, 'mid clouds withdrawn, 
In golden haze, in amber-mist ; 

The mountains in the gradual dawn 
Blushed as the god their foreheads kissed. 

The spirit of the morning threw 

A holiness where'er we trod ; 
And every drop of perfect dew 

Enshrined an image of the god. 

Oh ! thus, I sighed, as bears the dew 
The presence of yon orb divine, 

So shrines my heart a form as true. 

And that blest form, dear maid, is thine. 

In sweet confusion stood she by. 

With modest air, abashed and meek ; 

The blushes of the eastern sky 

Had left their throne to grace her cheek. 

Still not in these spoke Hope alone. 
But in her eyes where Truth was born : 

Oh ! never heart of man had known 
So fair a love, so sweet a morn ! 



254 MILDLY, oh! moon OF NIGHT. 



MILDLY, OH! MOON OF NIGHT. 

Mildly, oh ! Moon of Niglit, 

Walk'st thou the skies; 
As if beneath thy Kght 

No grief could rise ! 
As if thy beauty there 
Shed sweetness everywhere ; 
As Hfe ne'er lodged with care. 

Sorrow, and sighs ! 

Shine where thou wilt, fair Moon, 

Still must thou see 
Love's roses aU too soon 

Lost from life's tree : 
Hopes which have passed away. 
Friendships that Rved a day ! 
When Love and Hope decay. 

What must life be f 



ALONE AT EVE. 

Alone at eve, when all is still — 
And memory turns to other years, 

How oft our weary hearts we fill 
With fceUno-'s dark and bitter tean 



I've grown so nervous lately. 255 

The friendslilps of our youthful day — 
The hopes, which time could ne'er fulfil, 

And voices that have passed away, 
Return at eve — when all is still ! — 

When all is still except the breast 

That wakes to long remembered woe ; 
Of parted hopes, and hearts oppressed, 

And loved ones buried long ago ! — 
Yet solace may our spirits find, — 

A star to light the darkest ill ; 
There 's One the broken heart can bind — 

Alone at eve — when all is still ! 



I'VE GROWN SO NERVOUS LATELY. 

I've grown so nervous lately, 

When seated in my bower ; 
I never hear my love pass by 

But quick I drop a flower ! 
The rose I found this morning. 

All dewy, fresh, and sweet, 
Before I could prevent it. 

Had fallen at his feet ! 

He stooped, and then entwined it, 

And I was much afraid, 
And begged him not to mind it, 

But still he stayed — and stayed ! 



256 love's hour. 

Until my motlier called so, 
He could but bid Adieu ; 

He took away my rose, though, 
I wonder if he knew ? 



LOVE'S HOUR. 

Ye stars, that bright as seraphs seem 

To walk the circHng sky. 
Go, softly at her casement beam, 

And say Love's hour is nigh ! 
Ye waves, that hngering leave the shore, 

As if its flowers were dear. 
Steal gently to my Mary's door, 

And whisper I am here ! 

Go, with thy plaintive notes, sweet bird, 

And touch her tender heart ; 
And tell her I would speak one word — 

A word, ere I depart ! 
Go, perch upon the jasmine spray, 

That twines her lattice free ; 
And ask her why she stays away 

So lono; from Love and me ? 



BIRDS. 257 



BIRDS. 



Birds ! buy my birds ! 

I 've the best that e'er flew, — 
There is Love, a sweet bird, 

But he 's changeable too ! 
There is Hope, with a song 

That a seraph might sing ; 
And Fame, that would compass 

The earth with its wing ! 
Birds ! buy my birds ! 

I 've the best that e'er flew ; 
There is Love, a sweet bird. 

But he 's changeable too ! 

Birds ! buy my birds ! 

There is one bird of mine. 
One whose plumage is poor 

But whose song is divine : 
'Tis a bird they call Truth, 

And its voice can restore 
Even joy to the heart 

When life's pleasure seems o'er; 
Birds ! buy my birds ! 

There is one bird of mine. 
One, whose plumage is poor, 

But whose song is divine ! 

Birds ! buy my birds ! 

Fame 's a shy bird to keep, 
17 



258 HOPE ON. 

And it sings but at night 

When the world is asleep : 
Love and Hope too will fly 

If they be not held fast, 
But Truth will endure 

And sing sweet to the last. 
Birds ! buy my birds ! 

There are few that can match 
Such a cage full of birds — 

And such hard ones to catch ! 



HOPE ON. 

Better hope — and fall 
From its service weary, 

Than not hope at all 
In a world uncheery : 

Better still, though grieved, 

Hope — and die deceived. 
Hopeless life is dreary ! 

Better hope — and see 
Constant friendship never, 

Than not hope and be 
Without friendship ever — 

Better far to miss 

Something of life's bliss 
Than from all to sever ! 



259 



Better to forgive : 
Still, of all things, making 

Something bright to give 
Hearts less cause for aching : 

Though the night hath set, 

There 's a morning yet 
Midst the anofels wakinsr. 



'o' 



FANCIES. 

My love is like a morn in Sprinj 

So bright, so blest ; 
Her heart seems ever more to sing 

Within her breast : 
That graceful breast of fragrant snow, 
Where swan-like love's warm pulses go. 

My love is like the Moon's dear light. 

So sweet her face ; 
She, o'er the lowly walks of night, 

Sheds hope and grace. 
And, like the Moon, her presence brings 
Refinement to the humblest things. 

My love — oh ! I could muse, and dwell 

Upon her lot, 
And still- find something more to tell, 

Some charm forgot. 
She treads the path that life hath given 
As beauteous as a star in heaven. 



260 NATURE AND FASHION. 



NATURE AND FASHION. 

'T IS Nature makes the gentleman, 

'T is Nature moulds the heart and mind, 
Endows, far more than Fashion can. 

With all its boast of modes refined : 
Your Rank is but a human gift. 

And all experience proves it so ; 
No earthly titles yet could lift 

The mean, the worthless, and the low. 
Then be ye bold when fools look cold, 

For right and reason both commend it, 
And surely they who make the gold. 

Are good as they who waste or spend It. 

'Tis Nature grants the wisdom — power — 

The innate tenderness of thought ; 
A lofty mind is Nature's dower, 

A boon no fortune ever bought. 
Where Nature's hand hath been before, 

There 's httle need of Fashion's touch ; 
Can Rank for Manhood's grace do more ? 

It often fails to do as much : 
Then be ye bold when fools look cold, 

For right and reason both commend it ; 
And surely they who make the gold 

Are good as they who waste or spend it. 



I LOST MY WAY. 261 



I LOST MY WAY. 

I LOST my way, the other day, 

The sun was just an hour from noon, 
I caught the trace of one sweet face, 

A face my heart but loyed too soon ! 
The grace so light, the glance so bright. 

The slender foot that tripped so free ; 
The mind, the worth, — oh ! nought on earth 

Was dear as that sweet face to me. 

But long ere night, my hope took flight, 

Such charms I learnt were not for me ; 
My heart might break for her dear sake, — 

And better death than thus to be ! 
I lost my way, the other day. 

The sun was just an hour from noon ; 
I caught the trace of one sweet face, 

A face my heart but loyed too soon. 



MORN AND EYE. 

Calm and bright the Morn was bending 
O'er the sylvan town of Clare ; 

Slow the pale blue smoke ascending 
Lost itself in dew aud air ! 



262 love's kemonstkance. 

As, by peace and beauty bounded, 
Thus I gazed upon its cliarins, 

Swift a martial trumpet sounded, 
And the drum re-beat to arms ! 

Sudden, troop on troop, advancing, 

Swept the trampled plain below : 
Helm and spear and bayonet glancing, 

Answered quick the trumj)et's blow : 
Like a wild and fiery ocean. 

Soon the waves of battle spread — 
Foe to foe in red commotion; 

Strugghng life, and gory dead ! 

Bright the beam of Morn came shining 

Over mead and vale and flood ; 
Dim the sun, at its declining, 

Showed a scene of woe and blood ! 
Many a shrieking maiden fainted. 

With a grief no time hath healed : 
Ob ! the bloom, which morn had painted ! 

Oh ! the blight, which night revealed ! 



LOVE'S REMONSTRANCE. 



What ! for a word — an idle w^ord ? 

And more in jest than earnest spoken ? 
Were I to note each breath I heard 

My heart would soon be changed — or broken 1 



BETTER DAYS. 263 

'T is uot when words are sweetest said, 

Love's living flower blooms there to meet us ; 
The flower of love may still be dead, 

Although \Xs fragrance seem to greet us ! 
Then weigh not thou a word so slight, 

Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving ; 
The tongue that finds things ever right, 

Believe me, love, 's a tongue deceiving. 

II. 

Oh, if my heart had sought thee less. 

Mine eyes loved less to wander round thee, 
That word of wounded tenderness — 

That hasty word — had never found thee. 
The dew that seeks the Sun's fond gaze, 

His golden hps in gladness beaming ; 
Meets death within his smiling rays — 

His gilded fondness is but seeming ! 
Then weigh not thou a word so shght 

Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving ; 
The tongue that finds things ever right, 

Beheve me, love, 's a tongue deceiving. 



BETTEll DAYS. 



'T WAS said she had known better dayi 
Sad words — hoiv old on earth! 

The voice which fortune here obeys 
Is but of fickle birth ! 



264 BETTER DAYS. 

How oft we mark some faded dress, 
Where decent pride betrays 

Still mournfully, 'mid all distress, 
An air of better days ! 



Ah, poverty hath many a shape 

To make the thinking weep ! 
The little hat whose scanty crape 

Turns pale the widow's cheek ! 
They touch me most who fain would hide 

Their fall from fortune's ways ; 
I can respect — nay love their pride 

Who have known better days ! 

III. 

When we our trifling cares reveal — 

Cares which too oft we seek ; 
Could we but feel what others feel 

Our lips would shame to speak ! 
To see the morn but not the means — 

How dread that morning's rays ! 
Alas, they bear life's hardest scenes, 

Who have known better days ! 



MEET ME THERE. 265 



MEET ME THERE. 



When the lingering daylight closes 

O'er the lily's graceful breast ; 
When the moonbeam on the roses 

Ghtters like a bridal vest ; 
By the stream through Devon flowing 

Like some faint and fairy strain, 
Meet me, in thy beauty glowing, 

Meet me there — my own sweet Jane ! 



For the daylight first shall perish 

Ne'er to bless my waking sight. 
And the moonbeam fail to cherish 

Love's own roses through the night ; 
And the stream be mute for ever 

Through sweet Devon's lonely plain, — 
Heart and soul and feehng sever — 

Ere I cease to love my Jane ! 



266 THE KIJSfD OLD FllIENDLY FEELINGS. 



THE KIND OLD FRIENDLY FEELINGS. 



The kind old friendly feelings ! 

We have their spirit yet — 
Though years and years have passed, old friend, 

Since thou and I last met ! 
And something of gray Time's advance 

Speaks in thy fading eye ; 
Yet 'tis the same good, honest glance 

I loved in times gone by ! 
Ere the kind old friendly feelings 

Had ever brouirht one si<?h ! 



The warm old friendly feelings ! 

Ah, who need yet be told, 
No other Hnks can bind the heart 

Like those loved links of old ! 
Thy hand I joyed in youth to clasp 

The touch of age may show ; 
Yet, 't is the same true, hearty grasp 

I loved so long ago ! 
Ere the last old friendly feehngs 

Had tausht one tear to flow ! 



The kind, old friendly feelings ! 
Oh, seem they e'er less dear 



THE HOME-BOUND BARK. 267 

Because some recollections 

May meet us with a tear ? 
Though hopes we shared, — the early beams 

Ambition showed our way, — 
Have fled, dear friend, like morning dreams 

Before Truth's searching ray ; — 
Still ive've kept the kind old feelings 

That blessed our youthful day! 



THE HOME-BOUND BARK. 
I. 

'T IS the winter deep ! 
And the sea-fowl sweep 

Afar o'er the gloomy tide ; 
And the wild waves dash, 
'Neath the signal's flash, 

Where the foamy tempests ride. 

II- 

And dark and drear, 
On the seaman's ear, 

Hangs the vulture's ravening cry ; 
Like the starthng breath. 
Of some fiend of death. 

In wait for the souls that die. 

III. 

The sails are rent — 
The stout mast 's bent — 

And the helm and bowsprit gone ; 



268 THE HOME-BOUND BARK. 

And fast and far, 
'Midst the billowy war, 

The foundering bark drives on. 

IV. 

The shriek and prayer, 
And the wan despair. 

Of hearts thus torn away, 
Are seen and heard 
By the ravening bird 

In chase of his drowning prey. 

V. 

Oh, many a sire, 
By the low red 'fire, 

Will wake through this night of wo ■ 
For those who sleep 
'Neath the surges deep. 

Ten thousand fathom low ! — 

VI. 

And many a maid. 
In the lonely glade. 

For her absent love will mourn ; 
And watch and wail 
For the home-bound sail 

That will never more return ! 

VII 

Mourn not /or the dead. 
On their sandy bed, 
Nor their last long sleep deplore ; 



THE BRITISH BOW. 269 

But mourn for those, 
In their home of woes, 
Who weep for evermore ! 



THE BRITISH BOW. 

I. 
Hurrah ! the Bow, the British bow, 
The gallant, fine old English bow ! 
Never Hashed sword upon the foe. 
Like arrow from the good yew bow ! 
What knight a nobler weapon wields ? 
Thou victor of a thousand fields, — 
Are lances, carbines, thy compeers ? 
No: vouch it, Cressy and Poictiers ! 
With hearts of oak and bows of yew, 
And shafts that like the lightning fiew, 
Old England wore her proudest crown, 
Nor bolt nor brand might strike it down ! 

Hurrah ! 

II- 

Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow. 
The merry, true old English bow I 
Where fed the stag or sprung the roe, 
There bent the ready stout yew bow ! 
What hoof of speed dared scorn its might ? 
What plume outsoar its glorious flight ? 
Oh ! joyous was the greenwood then. 
And uiatchle^ss all her own bold men ; 



270 THE BKITISH BOW. 

Her rovers rude by mount and flood, 
Her king of outlaws, Robin Hood ! 
Right daring, reckless, wild, and free, 
Great cliami^ion of tlie brave yew-tree, 

Hurrah ! 



Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow. 
The stately, firm old English bow ! 
What souls with freedom's spirit glow. 
That love not thee, heroic bow ? 
When haughty Gaul deemed all-secure 
The victor's wreath at Agincourt, 
Thy shafts, triumphant from the string. 
Bore fate and veno-eance on their wing : 
And well the serried ranks might reel. 
When, like a hurricane of steel. 
They saw ten thousand barbs assail 
Their horse and horsemen, helm and mail ! 

Hurrah ! 

IV. 

Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow, 

The graceful, light old English bow ! 

What island of the world may show 

Aught like our own unconquered bow ? 

The guardian of our native wild, 

When Liberty was yet a child ; 

Ere yet were launched our ships of war, 

Our thunderbolts of Trafalgar ; 

When Nelson was no magic word — 

Drake, Hawke, St. Vincent's fame unheard! 



TO THE NIGHT WIND. 271 

Then oh ! — whilst freedom's bounties flow, 
Thrice honored be the bow ! the bow ! 

Old England's bow ! Hurrah ! 



TO THE NIGHT WIND. 

I. 

Art thou a lover, wandering the green lanes. 
And murmuring to thyself'some legend old — 

Strange tale of Knight, from dungeon-tower and 
chains. 
Led by some spirit from the vaulted mould ? 

Art thou a lover, through the moon's fond hours. 

Fancying thy bride's cheek in the blushing flowers ? 

II. 

Or mourn'st thou now some faithful heart and dear, 
That in the church-yard gray thou stay'st so long ; 

Leaving upon the tall rank grass a tear. 
Sighing thy wild and melancholy song ? 

Art thou a mourner, thou mysterious Wind, 

O'er beauty lost — affections left behind ? 

III. 

Or com'st thou from the distant vessel's side, 
AVith blessings laden, to the widow's cot ? 

Her S:iilor-Boy ! her buried husband's pride ! 
Still his lone mother's home forgets he not ? 

Say ; art thou herald of the thousand tongues 

That pour on thee their joys, griefs, hopes, and 
wrongs ? 



272 THE shepherd's daughter. 

IV. 

Yes ; sigbs are on thee — musical as love ; 

Hopes wbieli are half immortal in their flight ; 
Joys which, like angels, waft the soul above ; 

Wrongs that call heaven to vindicate the right ! 
The cherished secrets of each heart and mind 
Lie bared to thee, thou unrecording wind ! 

V. 

All things of earth are radiant with romance ; 

A spiritual language breathes around ! 
Even thou, lone Wind ! that touchest few per- 
chance, 

Art still the very poetry of sound ! 
From thy soft rising to thy wildest hour, 
Thou sing'st of life, eternity, and power ! 



THE SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 



Wheke the golden hand of morn 

Touches bght the singing fountain, 
There a maiden, lowly born, 

Guides her flock along the mountain 
Bashful as the fawn, and fleet, 

She invests the world with beauty ; 
Simple grace, and manners sweet, 

Dignify her humble duty. 



THE MOTHER. 273 

II. 

Sudden light has wreathed the earth, 

Robed the fields' and flowers in gladness ; 
New dehghts, too deep for mirth ; 

Gentle griefs, too sweet for sadness : 
Who this sudden charm hath wrought ? — 

Sent this flow of bright revealings ? — 
Mind, that springs with joyous thought ! 

Heart, that glows with heavenly feelings I 

III. 

Surely, 'tis some angel sti-ayed, 

Not a shepherd's daughter solely, 
Who hath earth Hke heaven arrayed, 

In a light and love so holy ! 
Oh ! when stars, like drops of pearl, 

GHmmer o'er the singing water, 
There 1 '11 woo my mountain grrl. 

Proudly wed the Shepherd's Daughter ! 



THE MOTHER. 

Oh thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share, 
From Reason's dawn, each pleasure and each care." 

Rogers. 
. I. 

A SOFTENING thought of Other years, 

A feehng Knked to hours 
When Life was all too bright for tears, — 

And Hope sang, wreathed with flowers I 
18 



274 THE MOTHER. 

A memory of affections fled — 
Of voices — heard no more ! — 

Stirred in my spirit when I read 
That name of fondness o'er ! 

II. 

Oh Mother ! — in that early word 

What loves and joys combine ; 
What hopes • — too oft, alas ! — deferred ; 

What vigils — griefs — are thine ! — 
Yet, never, till the hour we roam — 

By worldly thralls opprest, 
Learn we to prize that truest home — 

A watchful mother's breast ! 



The thousand prayers at midnight poured 

Beside our couch of woes ; 
The wasting weariness endured 

To soften our repose ! — 
Whilst never murmur marked thy tongue - 

Nor toils relaxed thy care : — 
How, Mother, is thy heart so strong 

To pity and forbear ? 



What filial fondness e'er repaid 
Or could repay the past ? — 

Alas ! for gratitude decayed ! 
Regrets — that rarely last ! — 

'Tis only when the dust is thrown 
Thy lifeless bosom o'er ; 



THE MOTHER. 275 

We muse upon thy kindness shown — 
And wish we 'd loved thee more ! 



V. 

'Tis only when thy lips are cold — • 

\Ve mourn with late regret, 
'JVIid myriad memories of old — 

The days for ever set ! 
And not an act — nor look — nor thought ■ 

Against thy meek control, 
But with a sad remembrance fraught 

Wakes anguish in the soul ! 

VI. 

On every land — in every clime — 

True to her sacred cause, 
Filled by that effluence sublime 

From which her strength she draws, 
StUl is the Mother's heart the same — 

The Mother's lot as tried : — 
Then, oh ! may Nations guard that name 

With fiUal power and pride ! 



276 THE VOICE OF NIGHT. 



THE VOICE OF NIGHT. 

" Night is the time to muse ; 

Then, from the eye, the soul 
Takes flight, and with expanding views 

Beyond the starry pole, 
Descries athwart the ahyss of night 
The dawn of uncreated light." 

Montgomery. 

I. 

How beautiful the heavens look to-night ! — 
So calm, transparent ; and the starry crowd, — 
Those exquisite embodiments of light, — 
Could ye not almost fancy they were proud 
Of their own loveliness ? — that they had bliss 
In beaming forth on such a night as this ? 

II. 

For ever and for ever there is set 

In the enduring sky, a seal and sign, 

A voiceless evidence of God ! — which yet 

Unchanged shall live, when this frail form of mine 

Hath mouldered from the bosom of the earth, 

Leavino; no record of its mortal birth. 



The elements of which we are composed 
May perish ; they are finite : but the soul 
Bursts from the frame in which it lived enclosed, 
Beyond the grasping reach of Time's control ! — 



THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. 277 

That spirit which within us swells and speaks, 
Shall find the immortality it seeks ! 



Oh, thou ! — Creator ! — God ! — and can it be 
That man is heir to thine own glorious heaven ? — 
'Tis so ! — the light, which is sublimity, — 
The essence, which is thought, by Thee were 

given ! — 
The fear and heaviness of doubt are o'er — 
I muse, and feel -^ and tremble — and adore ! 



THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. 

The ships ! — the ships of England ! — how gal- 
lantly they sweep 

By town and city, fort and tower, — defenders of 
the deep ! 

We build no- bastions 'gainst the foe, no mighty walls 
of stone ; 

Our warlike castles breast the tide — the boundless 
sea 's their own ! 

The ships ! — the ships of England ! What British 

heart is cold 
To the honor of his native isle, to the deathless 

deeds of old ? — 



278 THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. 

From quenched Armada's vaunted power, to glori- 
ous Trafalgar, — 
From Philip to Napoleon — when set Britannia's 
star ? 

The ships ! — the ships of England ! Where'er the 
surges roar, — 

Along the dark Atlantic, by the wild East-Indian 
shore — 

Where icebergs flash destruction down, or sultry- 
breezes play — 

The flag of England floats alone, and triumphs on 
her way ! 

Where sweeps the wind, or swells the wave, our 

vessels glad the view ; 
The wondering savage marks their decks, and stays 

his swift canoe : 
The Greenlander forsakes his sledge to watch each 

distant sail 
Pass, like a spirit of the deep, beneath the moon- 

hght pale ! 

Oh, wives, that love your cottage-homes ? oh, maids, 
that love the green ! 

And youths, in whose firm, fearless limbs, a free- 
born grace is seen, — 

Give honor to the noble ships, that fame and free- 
dom lend. 

And bid your songs of gratitude from hill and vale 
ascend ! 



THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. 279 

What horrors of the mivlulght storm our reckless 
seamen knoAv, 

AVhen thunders rattle overhead, and billows plunge 
below ; 

When howls the long ferocious blast, like some 
funereal strain, 

And fast and far the vessel drives along the dread- 
ful main ! 

IIow oft the cannon of the foe hath struck their 

dauntless breast. 
While ye smiled o'er the social fire, or found the 

balm of rest ! 
How oft the shriek of drowning men the startled 

vulture caught, 
When ye had closed your doors in peace, and 

home's sweet pleasures sought ! 

Then wake your songs of gratitude to those who 

brave the sea. 
And peril life that ye may live, and still prove fair 

and free : 
Amidst your harvest-fields, oh, bid this earnest 

prayer prevail : — 
" God guard the ships of England, o'er whatever 

sea they sail ! " 



280 MY OWN. 



MY OWN. 



" A solitary bliss thou neler couldst find, 
Thy joys with those thou lov'st are intertwined." 

Hannah More. 



My own — my own — oh ! breathes there one 
To whom that simple word 's not dear ? 

Beats there a heart so drear and lone, 
That holds not some loved object near ? 

Whose spirit like the arkless bird, 

From all companionship hath flown ; — 

And finds no gladness in that word. 

My own ! — my own ! — 

II. 
Who dull to every finer tie. 

To every soft affection cold, 
Lives on in cheerless apathy, 

And in his very youth seems old ! 
Though frequent cares my mind enthrall, 

Could wealth, mere earthly wealth, atone 
For the sweet beings lost ! — I call 

My own ! — my own ! 



No ! — Time may still but speed to show 
How false is Hope's delicious song. 

And many a sorrow I must know ; 

But, oh ! — sweet Heaven — may it be long 



THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. 281 

Ere those I love from me are gone ; 

And life a wilderness hath grown, 

And of earth's milUons there is none, 

My own ! — my own ! 



THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. 

And life, — alas ! allows but one ill winter's day." — Cowlet. 

I. 
A STARTLING sound by night was heard, 

From the Schevenlngen coast ; 
Like vultures in their clamorous flight. 

Or the trampling of a host. 



It broke the sleepers' heavy rest. 
With harsh and threat'ning cry ; 

Storm was upon the lonely sea ! 
Storm on the midnight sky ! 



The slumberers started up from sleep. 
Like spectres from their graves ; 

Then — burst a hundred voices forth — 
The waves ! — the waves ! — the waves ! 



The strong-built dykes lay overthrown : 
And on their deadly way, 



282 THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. 

Like lions, came the mighty seas, 
Impatient for their prey ! 

V. 

Like lions, came the mighty seas, — 

Oh, vision of despair ! — 
'Mid ruins of their falling homes, 

The blackness of the air. 

VI. 

Jesu ! it was a fearful hour ! 

The elemental strife. 
Howling above the shrieks of death — 

The struggling groans for life ! 



Fathers beheld the hast'ning doom, 

With stern, delirious eye ; 
Wildly they looked around for help, — 

No help, alas ! was nigh. 

VIII. 

Mothers stood trembling with their babes, 
Uttering complaints — in vain — 

No arm — but the Almighty arm — 
Might stem that dreadful main ! 

IX. 

No mercy — no relapse — no hope — 
That night — the tempest-tost 

Saw their paternal homes engulphed — 
Lost ! — oh, for ever lost ! 



THE RIVER. 283 

X. 

Again the blessed morning light 

In the far heavens shone ; 
But where the pleasant village stood, 

Swept the dark floods alone ! 



THE EIVER. 

Thou art the Poet of the Woods, fair River, 

A lover of the beautiful ! — and still 
Wand'rest by wildest scenes, while night-stars quiver, 

The only voice that haunts the desert hill : — 
Tliou art the Poet of the Woods, whose lay 
Charms the dim forest on thy sylvan way. 

Thou art the Artist of the Yale, bright River, 
That paint'st the glowing hues of earth and sky 

On thine own pure and placid breast for ever ; 
Two worlds of beauty on thy waters lie ! — 

riiou'rt Nature's boldest Painter — broad and free — 

And human genius ne'er surpasseth thee ! 

Thou art the Minstrel of the Fields, sweet River, 
AVhose music lingers like an angel's tongue — 

A voice that sings the glory of the Giver ! 
Creation's first, sublimest, birth of song ! 

Still let my soul thy liquid music hear, 

Oh, sweet Musician ! — voice for ever dear ! 



284 THE SLUMBERERS. 



THE SLUMBERERS. 

I. 
Gaze thou upon this mental dome — 

This mortal palace of the mind — 
This spirit-dwelling — this soul's home - 

To dreamy slumber now resigned : 
The fringed and ivory dooi's are closed 

Upon the azure world below ; 
The ruby hall, where Love reposed, 

Hath lost its soft, its minstrel flow. 
To the land of dreams hath fled 
Music sweet as incense shed ! 

II. 

Tranquil rest the small white feet ; 

How unmoved the graceful hand ! 
Yet, in measured circles fleet 

Dance they in the visioned land ! 
Calmly, as the frozen snow, 

O'er her arm of beauty rare. 
Droops that pale enchanted brow 

'Neath its long and shadowy hair ; 
Not a smile the lip surrounds. 
Yet she laughs where mirth abounds ! 

III. 

Round the damask curtains fall. 
Soft the silken pillow bends, 



THE SLUMBERERS. 285 

Nothing save the watcher's call 

To the ear Time's echo lends ; 
Yet, beneath the living green 

Of the ancient woods and hills, 
Where the timid fawns are seen 
• Trooping by the forest rills ; 
Thousand flowers around her beaming, 
Walks she in the land of dreaming ! 

IV. 

Strange that the closed eye should see ! — 

That the stirless feet should dance 
To a magic minstrelsy, 

Heard but in the sleeper's trance. 
Strange the voiceless Kp should sing ! — 

That the curtain fold on high, 
With the branching leaves of spring, 

Should delude the Dreamer's eye ! 
Mirthful — yet without a smile ! 
Mute — yet singing all the while. 



To a darker couch we tread, 

Where a maiden lowly lies ; 
Solemn light the tapers shed, 

O'er the cold and shrouded eyes ! 
On her white, unheaving breast. 

As the sculptor's marble fair. 
One pale, wasted hand doth rest. 

Half upcurved as still in prayer : 
To the land of souls have flown 
Feelings sweet as angels' own. 



286 THE SLUMiiKllERS. 

VI. 

Mark how wan the sombre brow ! 

Sadly dark the fallen cheeks ; 
Yet, she soars a seraph now, 

Where the morn of Heaven breaks. 
Silent in her virgin shroud, 

Silent on her funeral bed ; 
Like a lily crushed and bowed, 

Ere its brief spring-hour had fled : 
Silent — yet she sings — she hears 
The host of God's seraphic spheres ! 



Strange the lifeless eye should know 

Glories hid from living gaze ; 
Strange that form of saddest wo 

Lifts to God rejoicing praise. 
Strange that hand so meekly laid 

On the sunk and wearied breast, 
Clasped by Christ — in Faith arrayed — • 

Is guided to immortal rest. 
Lost — yet with Jehovah found ! 
Dead — yet with the deathless crowned ! 



THE BETTER WREATH. 287 



THE BETTER WREATH. 

I. 

What mortal plant that grows 

Sliould wreathe humortal fame ? 
The Rose ? it darkens ere it blows; 

Its glory 's but a name ! — 
Its blush, which meets the Morn's young beams, 

Must bear Night's tears ere long ; 
Find fitter emblem for Fame's dreams, 

The poet's soul and song ! 

II. 

The Laurel ? Shall its sombre leaves 

Fame's lofty brow entwine, 
Which living light from heaven receives, 

And mirrors thoughts divine ! 
No ! Cast it o'er some dismal wave, 

Where human hopes ne'er breathe ; 
The glorious songs the poet gave 

May ask a nobler wreath. 

III. 

The Bay ? Oh ! stiH its hues proclaim 

The same prophetic mark ; 
All things that speak of after fame, 

Are gloomy, stern, and dark ! 



288 THE BETTEK WREATH. 

The lovelier still the briefer lot ; 

They blossom and depart ! 
Their dead leaves lingering o'er the spot 

Like memories round the heart. 

IV. 

Away ! of human feelings twine 

The garland that shall live ; 
Hopes, thoughts, aJEFections — all divine, 

Be these the wreath ye give ! 
The Heart 's the flower that sweetest glows, 

And bears the dearest name : 
What other mortal thing which grows 

Should wreathe immortal fame ! 



MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 289 



MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 

" The two sieges of Saragossa were the most distinguished dis- 
plaj's of Spanish intrepidity during the war. The assault on the 
last d-Ay, the 28th, was renewed with still greater fury. It was pre- 
ceded by a terrible blow. Whether by treachery or accident, the 
powder-magazine in the centre of the city exploded, tearing away 
fourteen houses, and burying above two hundred of the people. 
While the citizens, startled by this sweeping disaster, were 
crowding to dig their dead and dying friends out of the ruins, 
the French batteries opened a tremendous discharge, and the 
columns of assault advanced under it to the gates ; in that mo- 
ment, Agostiua, a woman of the humbler classes, sprang into 
the battery, calling on her countrymen to follow, seized the 
burning match, and fired off the cannon ; then, jumping on it, 
loudly made a vow to ' Our Lady of the Pillar,' never to quit it 
till either she was dead, or the enemy were driven away." 



I. 

There were murmurs through the night, 

As of multitudes in prayer ; 
There were tears of wild affright, 

And the waihng of despair : 
For Invasion's gory hand 
Scattered havoc o'er the land. 

II. 

The startled morn arose 

To the trumpet's fierce acclaim, 

To the ringing steel of foes, 
And the battle bolts of flame ; 

Whilst the Gallic wolves of war 



19 



2:)0 MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 

III. 

The matron armed her son, 
And pointed to the walls : 

" See, the carnage hath begun, 
'Tis thy bleeding country calls ! 

Better, son, the patriot's tomb. 

Than a slave's ignoble doom." 



The gray-haired father took 

His time-worn brand and shield ; 

The pale monk closed his book, 
The peasant left his field ; 

And daughters, e'en a scar had grieved, 

Now deeds of dauntless heart achieved. 

V. 

Right onward dashed the foe, 

O'er the red and reeking ground, 

'Till the giant gates below 

Burst with an earthquake sound ; 

And the rocking walls yawned deep, 

'Neath the cannon's shattering sweep. 

VI. 

Yet ne'er with tyrant warred 

A firmer, bolder band : 
Again the gates were barred — ■ 

Again the walls were manned ; 
Again, as with prophetic sight. 
The hallowed Cross advanced the fin^ht. 



MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 291 



But heavier woes befell 

Tlie still unvauquislied brave, 

'Mid sounds that seemed the knell 
Of freedom's hopeless grave : 

A hurricane, a blazing shower, 

Swept shivered rampart, rock, and tower ! 



In that appalling hour 

AVhen Fate with Gaul combined 
To quell the freeman's power, 

To crush the valiant mind — 
When e'en the last defence had died, 
Who braved the storm ? who stemmed the tide ? 

IX. 

No steel-girt knight of fame. 

No chief of high emprifee ; 
A maiden's soul enshrined the flame 

Which lit Hope's darkening skies ; 
A maiden's valor dealt the blow, 
And stepped 'tween conquest and the foe. — 

X. 

Stood on that fatal brink. 

Defying pain and death ! 
And could Napoleon's legion shrink 

Betbre a woman's breath ? 
Could Gaul's proud eagle, from its height. 
Stoop to a mean, disastrous flight ? 



292 THE SULIOTE. 

XI. 

Yes : that fair arm withstood 

The chivalry of France, 
And poured destruction, like a flood, 

On quailing helm and lance : 
Leonidas in maiden's stole, 
A woman's breast with Curtius' soul. 

XII. 

Heroic heart and true ! 

Thy deeds shall find a voice 
To bid usurping tyrants rue, 

And freedom's sons rejoice : 
The loved of Time, the prized of Fame, 
Spain's noblest boast, and Gallia's shame ! 



THE SULIOTE. 

'Le ISLche craiut la mort, et c'est tout ce qu'il craint.'' — Racine. 



I LIVE for Immortality, 

And Time to me is nought ; 
Death hath no torture for the free, 

No power with terror fraught ! 
Beyond the fetter and the brand. 

The tyrant's red control ; 
I seek the everlasting land ! — 

The Sabbath of the Soul ! 



THE feULiOTE. 293 



Ye urge mc to betray the friends, 

For whose brave blood ye thirst ; 
Show me the bribe your tyrant sends 

To purchase deed so curst ! 
Display the wealthy argosy, 

This treachery to win ; 
To blast the counsels of the free — 

And steep my name in sin ! 



Away ! — the gold was never found 

That yet might shake my faith : 
Bring — bring your felon racks around — 

A SuUote fears not death ! — 
His home is like the eagle's nest, 

Inviolate and high ; 
Freedom the idol of his breast, 

For which- 't is dear to die ! 



List ! — 7 is the war-cry of the brave ! 

Hear ye that thrilling cheer ? — 
They come — whose every step 's a grave, 

For each assembled here ! 
Marshal your stern and countless hordes ! 

Oh, vain and powerless show I 
There Hves a spirit in our swords 

That slavery ne'er may know ! 



294 THE YOUNG COTTAGERS. 

V. 

Off — I have heard a voice that fills 

With treble strength these veins ; 
Back, — back ! — the fire that lights our hills 

Shall melt the tyrant's chains ! 
God of the Just ! be thou my shield ! 

My fate be in thy hand ! — 
He dashed amidst the hostile field, — 

He gained his native land ! 



THE YOUNG COTTAGERS. 

" Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast." — Sheridan. 



The blue streams know them — and the birds 

Have grown fandhar to their voice ; 

The echoes of the woods rejoice 
In the glad music of their words ! 

Blithe creatures of the summer air, 
Companions of the flower and bee ; 

Whose homeless feet find everywhere 
The free sweet rest of hberty : 
My weary spirit leaps to see, 

Their young forms in my wanderings ; 
Lone seated by some ancient tree — 

Or brook that through the valley sings 
A pleasant melody ! 



THE VISIOXAKY. 295 

II. 

Their voice my heart to gladness stirs, 

Amid its utter loneliness ; 

And, half unconsciously, I bless 
The young, the mountain cottagers ! 
True, they are poor — hut He, whose power 

Hath dressed the floweret of the vale. 
Will not forget them in that hour 

AVhen tempest winds prevail ! 
His eye — that rank nor wealth prefers, 

But on earth's humblest children falls. 

Bright as though born in palace-halls — 
Will shield the mountain cottagers ! 



THE VISIONARY. 

" But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised I "' 

Wordsworth. 

I. 

He had been superstitious from a child ; 
Haunted by fancies strangely beautiful — 
Visions and thoughts magnificently wild — 
Rendering earth's splendors valueless and dull : 
The common air — sunless and vast and dim — 
Opened a sphere of loveliness to him ! 



296 THE VlSIONAllY. 



A spiritual world ! — of whicli the eyes 
Imaged uo portion — oft and oft he sought 
Bv gazhig on the glad green fields, the skies, 
To lose the phantasies his brain had Avrought : 
Flashes of mind and madness ! — but in vain — 
They lived — till loftier influence burst the chain! 

III. 
He loved — and oh ! what language may the truth, 
The full devotion of his soul impart ? 
She was the melody of his lone youth ! — 
The light — the poesy of his young heart ! 
The ring-dove of the birds — rose of the flowers — 
The music and the idol of his hours ! 

IV. 

Yet, to the gentle spirit of his love, 

The richness of his voice was all unknown ; 

Perchance her lineage ranked high above 

The fallen power and station of his own : 

And pride — for he had pride few might control — 

Kept all untold the passion of his soul ! 

V. 

A glance — a brief — a transient glance hath made 
His young lips tremble with unuttered bliss : 
Slie was the star 'neath whose pure light he strayed — 
And, oh ! what light's so exquisite as this ? 
His proudest aspirations after fome, 
Sprang from one hope — that slie might breathe his 
name ! 



THE PRINCE OF THE STOllM. 297 

VI. 

And lives he now ! — remains the lady yet 
The mirror of his musings ? — and the light 
Of his lone life — or have they never met ? 
Like streams that wander near but ne'er unite ! 
Still breathes unknown the sweetness of his word, 
Or hath his long, deep love at last been heard ? 

VII. 

The moon is shining on the quiet leaves 

Of the dim cypress, whose low drooping head — 

(Like one who through the midnight bends and 

grieves ! ) — 
ShadoAvs a tomb ! — his tomb ! — the young — the 

dead : 
The secret of his death, who may declare ? — 
Enough to know — he perished — and sleeps there ! — 



THE PRINCE OF THE STORM. 



I WAS born in a cloud of sulphureous hue — 
Darkness my mother, and Fl mie my sire ; 

The earth shook in terror, as forth to its view 
I sprang from my throne like a monarch of fire! 

My brother, bold Thunder, hurrahed as I sped ! 
My subjects laughed wild, till the rain from their 
eyes 



298 THE PRINCE OF THE STOKM. 

Rolled fast, as thougb torrents were dashed over- 
head, 
Or an ocean had burst through the bounds of the 
skies ! 
I am Prince of the Storm — of the Cloud — of 
the Air — 
I strike. the firm oak that doth ages defy; 
And lo ! in an instant 'tis shattered and bare — 
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Light- 
ning am I ! 

II. 

Hurrah ! what a whirling and rush o'er the land ; 
Like the cannon of battle the .dark mountains 
roar; 
Whilst around, vnth my lances of fire in my hand, 

I scatter wild havoc behind and before ! — 
Hurrah for the forest ! with sounds like the ocean, 
The boughs heave in billows and groan in the 
blast : 
Then, silent as death, not a branch seen in motion. 
They breathless look up when the tempest hath 
passed. 
Oh, I 'm Prince of the Storm — of the Air — of 
the Cloud, 
I strike the tall rock that doth ages defy, 
And lo ! in an instant 'tis shivered and bowed — 
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Light- 
ning am I ! 



DRYBURGH ABBEY. 299 



DRYBURGH ABBEY. 

And Scott — that Ocean -mid the stream of men ! 
That Alp, amidst all mental greatness reared I — 

'T WAS morn — but not the ray whicli falls the sum- 
mer boughs among, 

When beauty walks in gladness forth, with all her 
light and song ; 

'T was morn — but mist and cloud hung deep upon 
the lonely vale, 

And shadows, like the wings of death, were out upon 
the gale. 

For He whose spii'it woke the dust of nations into 

life — 
That o'er the waste and barren earth spread flowers 

and fi-uitage rife — 
Whose genius, like the sun, illumed the mighty realms 

of mind — 
Had fled for ever from the fame, love, friendship of 

mankind ! 

To wear a wreath in glory wi'ought his spirit swej^t 

afar, 
Beyond the soaring wing of thought, the light of 

moon or star ; 
To drink immortal waters, free from every taint of 

earth — 
To breathe before the shrine of life, the source 

whence woi'lds had birth ! 



300 DllYBUliGH ABBKY. 

There was wailing on the early breeze, and darkness 
in the sky, 

When, with sable plume, and cloak, and pall, a fu- 
neral train swept by ; 

Methouglit — St. Mary shield us well ! — that other 
forms moved there, 

Than those of mortal brotherhood, the noble, young, 
and fair ! 

Was it a dream ? — how oft, in sleep, we ask, "Can 

this be true ? " 
Whilst warm Imagination paints her marvels to our 

view ; — 
Earth's glory seems a tarnished crown to that which 

we behold. 
When dreams enchant our sight with things whose 

meanest garb is gold ! 

Was it a dream ? — methought " the dauntless Har- 
old " passed me by — 

The proud " Fitz-James," with martial step, and 
dark intrepid eye ; 

That " Marmion's " haughty crest was there, a mourn- 
er for his sake ; 

And she, — the bold, the beautiful ! — sweet '' Lady 
of the Lake." 

The " Minstrel " whose last laij was o'er, whose bro- 
ken harp lay low. 

And with him glorious " Waverley," with glance and 
step of wo ; 



DRYBURGH AJ3BKY. 301 

And " Stuart's " voice rose there, as when, 'mid fate's 

disastrous war, 
He led the wild, ambitious, proud, and brave " Yich 

Ian Vohr." 

Next, marvelling at his sable suit, the " Dominie '* 

stalked past, 
With " Bertram," " Julia " by his side, whose tears 

were flowing fast ; 
" Guy Mannering," too, moved there, o'erpowered 

by that afflicting sight ; 
And '• Merrilies," as when she wept on Ellan- 

gowan's heioiht. 

Solemn and grave, " Monkbarns " appeared, amidst 

that burial line ; 
And " Ochiltree " leant o'er his staff, and mourned 

for "• Auld lang syne ! " 
Slow marched the gallant " Mc Intyre," whilst 

" Lovel " mused alone ; 
For once, " Miss Wardour's " image left that bosom's 

faithful throne. 

With coronach, and arms reversed, forth came "Mac 

Gregor's " clan — 
Red " Dougal's " cry pealed shrill and wild — " Rob 

Roy's " bold brow looked wan : 
The fair " Diana " kissed her cross, and blessed its 

sainted ray ; 
And " Wae is me ! " the " BaiUie " sighed, " that I 

should see this dav ! " 



302 DEYBURGH ABBEY. 

Next rode, in melancholy guise, with sombre ve?' 
and scarf, 

Sir Edward, Laird of EUieslaw, the far-renowned 
" Black Dwarf; " 

Upon his left, in bonnet blue, and white locks flow- 
ing free — 

The pious sculptor of the grave — stood " Old Mor- 
tality ! " 

" Balfour of Burley," " Claverhouse," the " Lord of 

Evandale," 
And stately " Lady Margaret," whose wo might 

nought avail ! 
Fierce " Bothwell " on his charger black, as from 

the conflict won ; 
And pale " Habakkuk Mucklewrath," who cried 

" God's will be done ! " 

And like a rose, a young white rose, that blooms 

mid wildest scenes. 
Passed she, — the modest, eloquent, and virtuous 

" Jeanie Deans ; " 
And " Dumbeidikes," that silent laird, with love too 

deep to smile^ 
And " Effie," with her noble friend, the good " Duke 

of Argyle." 

With lofty brow, and bearing high, dark " Ravens- 
wood" advanced. 

Who on the false " Lord Keeper's " mien with eye 
indignant glanced : — 



DRYBURGH ABBEY. 303 

Wliilst graceful as a lonely fawn, 'neath covert 

close and sure, 
Approached the beauty of all hearts — the " Bride 

of Lammermoor ! " 

Then " Annot Lyle," the fairy queen of Hght and 
song, stepped near. 

The " Knight of Ardenvhor," and he, the gifted 
Hieland Seer; 

" Dalgetty," " Duncan," "Lord Monteith," and "Ran- 
ald," met my view ; 

The hapless " Children of the Mist," and bold 
" Mhich-connel Dhu ! " 

On swept " Bois-Guilbert " — " Front de Boeuf " — 
" De Braey's " plume of wo ; 

And " Coeur de Lion's " crest shone near the val- 
iant " Ivanhoe ; " 

While soft as glides a summer cloud " Rowena " 
closer drew. 

With beautiful " Rebecca " peerless daughter of 
the Jew ! 

Still onward like the gathering night advanced 

that funeral train — 
Like billows when the tempest sweeps across the 

shadowy main ; 
Where'er the eager gaze might reach, in noble ranks 

were seen 
Dark plume, and glittering mail and crest, and 

woman's beauteous mien ! 



304 DRYBURGH ABBEY. 

A sound thrilled through that length'ning host I me- 

thought the vault was closed, 
Where, in his glory and renown, fair Scotia's bard 

reposed ! 
A sound thrilled through that length'ning host ! 

and forth my vision fled ! 
But, ah ! — that mournful dream proved true, — the 

immortal Scott was dead ! 

The vision and the voice are o'er ! their influence 

waned away 
Like music o'er a summer lake at the golden close 

of day : 
The vision and the voice are o'er! — but when will 

be forgot 
The buried Genius of Romance — the imperishable 

Scott ? 



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